Gotham Through the Ages, Part III
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Last in a series of three stories which transports familiar characters into different historical settings, exploring their relationships throughout the centuries and if anything ever changes. Finally, a tale of Gotham City in the Roaring Twenties and the age of gangsters, bootlegging, and all that jazz.
1. Chapter 1

**Gotham Through the Ages, Part III**

 **Gotham City - 1922**

A drowsy jazz tune played on the radio as Harleen Quinzel waited impatiently by the entrance to the kitchen. "Lewis, I need the order for table twelve!" she snapped, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her arm. It wasn't just from the hard work, although this morning had been exceptionally busy – the heat today was ridiculous, and clearly nobody felt like cooking. So they came out to eat at the diner, which was fine for the customers, but less so for the cooks and the waiting staff.

"It's gonna be another couple of minutes, Harley," retorted the cook, Lewis, face flushed and sweat pouring off him as he slaved over the grill. "Just offer them some more coffee or something."

"I've refilled their cups three times, and they're getting impatient," said Harley.

"Tell 'em if they wanna come in here and cook, they can be my guest!" he snapped.

Harley gave an annoyed sigh and stormed away. It wasn't Lewis's fault, really, but they were all on edge with the stress and the heat and the crowds of people. Nevertheless, she forced a smile as she approached her customers at table twelve.

"Just be another couple of minutes on the food, folks – who wants more coffee?" she asked, holding up the pot.

"We've been waiting forty-five minutes now for a couple burgers," snapped one of the customers.

"Well, we are very busy today, sir, as you can see," said Harley, refilling the coffee mugs.

"I could have had lunch prepared, eaten, and been ready with dessert in the time it's taken just to place an order and wait for it," chimed in the customer's wife, glaring at Harley.

"Yes, the delay will be reflected in your tip, young lady," said the man. "It's honestly ridiculous to expect people to put up with this kind of wait, in this day and age. You would think in this modern world with such miracles as radios and motorcars, the least people can do is make us lunch in under an hour."

They also had a child, a spoiled-looking little boy, who had been swinging his legs under the table and now kicked out at Harley, hitting her in the shins. His parents made no motion to discipline him for such behavior, so he grinned and did it again.

Harley gritted her teeth as she finished filling the mugs and then headed back to replace the coffee pot. The other waitresses were all in the same boat – not that there were many of them, thought Harley. The boss was too cheap to hire more help, so the women who did work there were constantly busy, receiving snide remarks and abuse more than they ever received tips.

As she walked past a table, another man reached out to pinch her. "Hey, sweetheart, what time do you get off?" he asked.

"None of your business," she retorted, rounding on him angrily.

"Aw, now don't play hard to get," said the man, trying to slide an arm around her waist. "C'mon, pretty little thing like you needs a big, strong man to look after her."

"Yes, and you're clearly not one of them," retorted Harley, shoving herself away from him as she returned to the front of the diner. She took a deep breath, pretending to check the menus, but really trying to concentrate on holding back her tears. She hated her job, especially on days like this, but also in general. The salary she earned was barely enough to make ends meet and to pay the rent for her small, derelict little apartment in the slums of Gotham City where she lived alone. She hated it, but it was all she could afford on her salary, and she didn't see herself getting either a pay rise or a better job anytime soon. She also didn't see herself getting any kind of companionship anytime soon either – all the men she had met in Gotham City had been creeps, only interested in her for her looks rather than her personality. She had gone on a few dates with a couple men, but they never led to anything serious. And so she was alone, stuck in a terrible job, and living in an ugly area. She hated her life more than words could express.

The bell over the door to the diner rang, indicating another customer had entered. _Great_ thought Harley. _Just what we need…_

She forced a smile and then looked up. "Hi, welcome to…"

But she trailed off as she stared at the man who had entered. He was tall and thin and strangely handsome despite being an older man, with deep, piercing green eyes and a ready, easy smile, which was directed at her as he puffed casually on a cigarette. He was dressed in a shabby suit which looked as if it had been worn and repaired many times, but nevertheless, the man seemed to exude a kind of natural, classy charm. He had removed his fedora to reveal thick locks of dark, wavy hair, and Harley could only stare at him, stunned.

"Wel…welcome to Pauli's Diner," she stammered at last. "Party of…one?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, nodding, in a pleasant, distinctive voice, with another charming smile.

"Right…right this way," she said, taking a menu and a set of cutlery and leading him through the crowd of people to an empty table.

"Hey, baby!" shouted the man who had pinched her, reaching out to try to grab her again. "C'mon, one little date! I'll buy you dinner!"

"No, thank you," growled Harley, trying to avoid his eager hands.

"Now that's no way to be…" began the man, but he gasped in sudden pain as the man with the green eyes suddenly reached out and seized his hand, bending the fingers back and crushing them.

"The lady said no, sport," he muttered. "That means no."

He released him and the man cradled his injured hand, looking in fear at the man with the green eyes who followed Harley to the table. "Thank…thank you," stammered Harley.

He shrugged. "Don't thank me. Just common courtesy. Guys can't treat a lady like that, or what'll the world come to? Can't let everyone get away with bad manners, buncha pigs," he said, tapping his cigarette into the ashtray. "If people don't show you respect, you gotta make 'em. However unpleasant that might occasionally be," he added, grinning at her.

"Well, it's…a little harder for some of us to earn respect, as a woman working a dead-end job…" said Harley.

"Gotta make 'em respect you, like I said," replied the man, nodding. "Gotta earn it. And if you can't earn it just by being you, you gotta earn it in other ways. But don't feel like you're obliged to put up with crap from anyone because you're a woman working a dead-end job. A woman always deserves respect. A working woman even more so. You're one of the brave ones, going out there and taking advantage of the opportunity given to you by the times we live in. Coulda stayed at home and just got married, done the safe thing, but you didn't. You're following your own path, and that's a real brave thing to do. Don't let anybody tell you different," he said, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

Harley's heart was beating wildly as she stared at the man, who was becoming more attractive by the minute. But she remembered her place and cleared her throat, taking out her notepad. "So…uh…what'll it be?" she asked.

He glanced at the menu. "I'll have the pepper steak, medium rare," he said. "And a cup of coffee."

Harley stared at him. "Steak?" she repeated, eyeing the man's clothes. "You can afford steak?"

She realized that she had meant to only think that, not say it, and found herself blushing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…only it's a whole fifty cents…"

He chuckled, smiling at her, and then reached into his pocket and withdrew a wad of bills. "Got it covered," he said, grinning.

"Wow…you're rich!" she gasped. "I've never seen that kinda money before…"

"I ain't rich," he said, shaking his head. "I just had a streak of good luck recently. And I'm in the mood for a steak."

"Coming…coming right up," she said, writing it down. "And I'll go get your coffee right now. It's free refills so…just let me know when you need some more. I mean, I'll be keeping an eye on you anyway…not just you, on everyone, that's my job, I mean…"

"I know what you mean," he interrupted with a smile. "And thank you, I will."

Harley headed off to the kitchen to place the order, glancing back at the strange man. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

"Order for table twelve is up, Harley," said Lewis, shoving some plates at her. "Harley?" he repeated.

"Huh?" she asked, tearing her eyes away reluctantly. "Oh yeah…yeah, thanks, Lewis."

"What's the matter?" he asked, following her line of sight. "You worried about that drifter sneaking out without paying?"

"Drifter?" repeated Harley.

"The guy in the shabby suit," he said, nodding at the man with the green eyes. "Got a shifty, untrustworthy kinda look about him, doncha think?"

"Uh…no," stammered Harley. "No, I don't, Lewis. I actually think he's kinda cute. And he seems nice enough…"

"Yeah, crooks have gotta be charming," agreed Lewis. "That's how they operate. But trust me, underneath that smooth charm, they're a nasty piece of work."

"Thanks, Dad," retorted Harley, sarcastically. "I'm not stupid, y'know, Lewis. I'll be careful." She handed him the order. "Just make him a steak, medium rare."

"He's old enough to be your Dad," said Lewis. "And he can't possibly pay for steak."

"I've seen the cash – he's good for it," retorted Harley. "So just do your job, and let me do mine."

She took the plates over to the family table, where more snide remarks about how long it had taken were directed at her. But she was able to ignore them, glancing over at the table where the man with the green eyes smoked, smiling to himself as he looked out the window. He had such a beautiful smile.

She came over to pour his coffee to see him still staring out the window. "Something out there has got you hypnotized," she commented. "Pretty girl shopping across the street?"

He grinned at her. "Why would I wanna stare at one across the street when there's one right in front of me?" he asked.

Harley felt herself blushing. "I was staring at the car," he explained, nodding out the window to a sleek automobile parked on the curb next to the diner. "She's a beaut."

"You prefer cars to women?" asked Harley.

"No reason why a man can't enjoy both," he replied, grinning as he tapped out his cigarette. "You know who she belongs to?" he asked, nodding at the car.

"Yeah, the owner," replied Harley. "He owns most of the buildings in this area. He works in one of those high-rise offices around the corner, but he has to pay to park there, so he always parks his car here because nobody will charge him. And so he can make his employees feel his presence, and constantly remind them who's in charge," she added. "Or at least it feels that way sometimes."

The man chuckled. "Smart girl, to figure out his game," he said, puffing on his cigarette. "He's a busy man, I take it? Works late into the evenings most nights, huh?"

"Yeah," agreed Harley. "I usually shut up the diner around ten, and the car's still there. Sometimes it stays there until the next day – we figure he doesn't get along with his wife or something."

The man laughed. "Probably," he agreed. "Probably has a nice, obliging secretary who lets him stay over, no questions asked."

"Yeah. You…uh…got a wife…Mr…?" asked Harley, slowly.

He grinned. "Napier. Jack Napier. Single," he said, holding up his hand free from any wedding ring. "And you, Miss…"

"Quinzel. Harleen Quinzel. But call me Harley – everyone does," she said, hastily.

"And are you married?" he asked.

Harley laughed. "Oh no, no, no, I'm definitely not," she said. "As you can see," she added, holding up her own bare hand. "I've been unlucky enough not to…uh…find anyone yet."

"You call it unlucky," he said, shrugging. "But I think it's very lucky indeed. For me, anyway," he added, smiling at her and puffing out a cloud of smoke.

Harley felt herself blushing again. "Yeah…well…I gotta go…see to the other customers, Mr. Napier. Let me know if you need anything," she said, leaving him with her heart pounding in her chest.

Harley wanted to chat with Jack some more, but the diner only got even more crowded, and she barely had time to give him his steak and hear his thank you before she had to rush off to another table. When she finally had time to pause in her work, her eyes strayed over to the table by the window…and her heart fell when she saw that it was vacant.

She rushed over to see the empty plate, and a note scribbled on a piece of paper.

 _Harley,_

 _Great steak, thanks. Left a little tip for you under the plate. Really nice meeting you, and best of luck – you deserve it._

 _Jack._

Harley lifted the plate to see a few bills placed into a pile – the largest tip she had ever received in her life. She gathered up the money, knowing that she should be ecstatic about it, and grateful, but her overriding feelings were disappointment and depression. She had thought she and Jack had had a connection, that he was interested in her, but he hadn't even left an address to contact him. Clearly he was just being charming, as Lewis had warned, but without any substance underneath it. Harley should have known better than to get her hopes up by now.

She sighed, pocketing the money, and tried to be cheerful, forcing a smile onto her face and resigning herself to the fact that she would never see Jack Napier again.


	2. Chapter 2

That evening, Harley was the last to leave the diner as usual. She finished the cleaning and then turned off the lights, heading into the back to grab her coat, hat, and purse. Then she headed out the door, locking up the diner carefully behind her and preparing to face the dark streets of Gotham alone.

She heard a noise and turned. She couldn't see much in the darkness, but her eyes suddenly fell on the owner's car which was still parked in front of the diner. In the dim light from the streetlamps, she could just make out a dark shape tinkering with the engine.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

The shape looked up at her, and she was stunned to see the familiar face of Jack Napier. "Mr…Mr. Napier…" she stammered.

"Miss Quinzel, good evening," he said, removing his hat again and smiling that same, easy, beautiful smile.

"What…are you doing?" she asked, gesturing to the car.

"Just taking the opportunity to get a closer look at this very fine motorcar," he said, patting it. "I was hoping to be able to examine it at my leisure in a more well-lit location, and I was just attempting to move it there…"

Harley gaped at him. "You…you were trying to steal it?" she stammered.

He sighed, lighting up a cigarette. "Stealing is such an ugly word, Miss Quinzel – I would prefer not to use it."

"But that's what you were planning on doing," snapped Harley. "You're a thief, and a criminal, and…and is that what you meant by having a stroke of luck recently? Is this…is this dirty money?" she demanded, reaching into her purse and pulling out the tip he had given her.

"Would it matter if it was?" he asked, puffing on his cigarette.

"Of course it would!" she snapped. "I can't accept stolen money!"

"Why not? You clearly need it," he replied.

"No, I don't need to break the law to get along in life!" snapped Harley. "I'm not as immoral a person as you! Take it back, please," she said, holding out the money to him.

He shook his head. "It's yours - I gave it to you. Keep it."

"It was not yours to give!" snapped Harley. "You can't just…steal from people! You can't just steal the owner's car…"

"Why not?" interrupted Jack. "He steals from you. He steals your time and your effort and your life, the more he makes you work your fingers to the bone for your pitiful little salary. He steals your youth and your beauty, every day you waste cramped in that hot, horrible little diner, serving ungrateful, horrible people. You don't think you deserve better than that, Miss Quinzel?"

"Maybe I do," she agreed. "But stealing is not the way to get it. Please take the money back."

He nodded, taking the bills from her and folding them back into his pocket. "Feel better now?" he asked.

"Yes," she snapped. "I do. But I'll feel even better once you get away from that car and get out of here before I call the police."

He puffed out a cloud of smoke. "I'm not going to let you do that, Miss Quinzel," he murmured. "I consider myself a very polite, generous man, but I do have a nasty temper when pushed. I would hate to show that side of myself to a woman as beautiful as yourself."

"You expect me to just head home and let you steal the owner's car?" she asked. "And if the police question me about it, to just lie?"

"I would certainly appreciate that," he agreed, nodding.

"I don't know what kind of woman you think I am…" she began.

"Do you want me to tell you?" he interrupted. "I think you're a very good woman, Miss Quinzel. I think you were raised to know right from wrong, and good from bad, and I think those were very easy things to see when you were young. But I think as you've gotten older, the world has disappointed you more and more. I think you dreamed of having your own life, of being free to do the things you wanted to do, not dependent on the wishes of a parent or husband. And I think in your quest for freedom you've sold yourself into slavery which you will never escape from. I think you've tried your best and worked your hardest, and you keep futility hoping that this will somehow give you the freedom you so desperately crave. But it doesn't. You live day after day hoping for better, but it never comes. And you can't understand why the world is so disappointing, why everything is so difficult when you've done everything you were supposed to do. When you followed the rules society set down, when you did nothing wrong, when you were a good, decent person, and yet you've received no reward. Not even the tiniest bit of happiness for doing everything you were supposed to do. And you're starting to hate everything about your life, and yourself, because you figure something's gotta be wrong with you, that the world just doesn't like you, for some reason. Otherwise why would it be so cruel to you? And you're going to keep hating, and become even more bitter, and eventually the world will destroy you. And you will die, alone and unloved and hating everything, but yourself most of all, for seeing yourself as a failure. But you haven't failed anyone. The world has failed you. It's at fault, and it should have to pay for breaking its word, for not upholding the deal you made with it. So you make a new deal. You play by your own rules. Or you drown in your own bitterness. It's that simple."

"You think…you think you can just excuse stealing like that?" demanded Harley.

"Yes," he replied, puffing on his cigarette. "I do."

She opened her mouth to respond, but he reached out, cupping her face in his hands. "I can see your beauty dying inside," he whispered, stroking her hair back. "It's the saddest thing I've ever seen. Pretty little flower like you, being crushed and withered before you've even had a chance to bloom. Being suffocated in that horrible diner, yearning for just a glimpse of the sun. Don't let them trap you anymore. Don't let them lock you up."

"Of…the two of us…you're the one more likely to be locked up," stammered Harley, trying to sound indignant, but her heart was beating wildly at the touch of his hands and the nearness of his body.

He shook his head. "You're already in a cage. I'm free. Truly free. Wouldn't you like to know how that feels, for once in your life?"

"I would like…Mr. Napier…" she began, but he gently brought his lips down to hers and kissed her tenderly.

Harley didn't want to like it. But she loved it, and she couldn't control the natural response of her body to pull him closer and return the kiss. This was wrong and horrible, her mind chastised her – this man was a thief, and a criminal, but her heart only beat more wildly at that, and her body wanted him even more. She never could have imagined that so wrong a man could feel so right.

"Oh…Mr. Napier!" she gasped when he drew away at last.

"Jack," he said, smiling as he touched her chin. Then he turned away, returning his attention to the car.

She tried to regain control of herself. "You think…sweet talking me and…kissing me means I'll let you break the law?"

He laughed, and then pulled aside his jacket to reveal a gun tucked into his pocket. "Believe me, Miss Quinzel, if I thought any less of you, I would have shot you when you interrupted me. And if you insist on interfering with my business, I guess I can do you the favor of giving you a quick death with a bullet to the skull. Probably preferable to you slaving out your days in that diner and dying slowly, wouldn't you agree?"

He turned back to the car. "But I don't want to do that. It would be such a waste, killing a smart, pretty girl like you. So I'm giving you a choice. You can walk away a free woman, or I can kill you. But either way, I'm taking the car."

Harley folded her arms across her chest. "What if I walk away and then call the police?"

"I trust you not to," he said, shrugging. "But even if you do, Jack Napier ain't my real name. The cops know that alias, but they'll never find me. But feel free if you wanna waste police time."

Harley glared at him. "You're a very good liar, aren't you?" she asked. "Did you tell me the truth about anything?"

"Yes," he said, turning back to her and grinning. "I am single."

He started the engine suddenly and then climbed into the car. "Can I give you a lift home?" he asked, opening the passenger door. "I'd hate to think of you walking the streets of Gotham alone at night. Can't be too careful with all those dangerous people out there."

"You think I trust you?" she demanded. "Why wouldn't you just kill me in the car and dump my body somewhere?"

"Well, for one thing, it would ruin the fine leather upholstery," he said. "And the cleaning would set me back almost as much as the car. And I told you, I don't want to kill you. You can't hurt me. That's why they lock people up – to make 'em harmless."

Harley continued to glare at him. "I don't want my fingerprints all over the car in case the police impound it…"

"Believe me, the cops won't get their hands on this little baby," chuckled Jack, running his hands along the dashboard. "This little beauty belongs to me now. And I take very good care of all my things. Especially my pretty things."

He smiled at her, and Harley's heart fluttered, despite how her rational self ordered her not to be attracted to this horrible man, this criminal, this thief…

She climbed into the car. Jack shut the door, and they drove off without another word.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

Harley gave him the address. "That ain't a nice area," he said.

"No, but it's all I can afford," she replied.

"Awful being a slave to money, ain't it?" he asked, casually.

"Where do you live?" she demanded. "Someplace fancy that you stole from somebody else, no doubt."

"You could call it a steal!" he chuckled. "It's an apartment across town. Nothing too fancy, but it ain't a dump."

She said nothing, staring out the window. "You wanna see it?" he asked at last.

She laughed, and then saw that he was being serious. And then her eyes narrowed. "I don't know what kinda girl you think I am, but I ain't that kind!" she snapped. "I don't just go home with a guy I just met, especially not a thieving one!"

"Ok, don't get so touchy – it was just a question," he retorted.

Harley began to panic. "Wait…is that why you offered to drive me home? You're gonna take me someplace and…and…oh God, you're gonna assault me in this car, aren't you?!" she cried, reaching desperately for the door.

"What? No!" snapped Jack. "I ain't that kinda guy! I don't force a dame to do anything she don't wanna do!"

Harley calmed somewhat. "I just…y'know…thought you kinda liked the kiss," he muttered.

"Well, maybe I kinda did," she agreed. "What of it?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I kinda got the impression…from earlier today too…that you were kinda…interested in me."

"Maybe I was," retorted Harley. "I kinda got that impression about you too, but now I know you're a compulsive liar."

"I wasn't lying about that," he retorted. "You're an attractive gal."

"Yeah?" asked Harley.

"Yeah," he agreed.

She shrugged. "Well…maybe I think you're an attractive guy too."

They drove in silence. "I mean, that was before I knew you were a criminal," said Harley at last.

"That's killed your attraction, huh?" he asked.

"I didn't say that!" she snapped. "But it would be wrong to be attracted to a criminal…"

She shrugged again. "But like you said…sometimes it's hard to tell right from wrong these days."

She shook her head. "Anyway, it's not like we'll see each other again. It would be really dumb for a wanted criminal to leave his address or telephone number or something. And I don't have a telephone anyway. And how dumb would I have to be to get involved with a criminal? What kinda future could I have like that?"

"What kinda future do you have now?" he demanded.

"I got a steady job," she snapped. "I pay my rent, and my bills, and I don't depend on anyone! I'm free!"

"Yeah, you look it," he said, pulling up to Harley's apartment building. "This is how free people live, packed into small, dirty, ugly cells. Oh no, wait, that's how prisoners live. My mistake," he said, sarcastically.

Harley glared at him. "Well, let's see if your home is any better!" she snapped. "Because I don't believe it is! But let's see the result of your ill-gotten gains!"

He sighed. "I ain't gonna drive you all the way back here afterwards," he muttered, turning the car around.

"I'll walk," retorted Harley.

"I ain't gonna let you do that," he said.

"Then call me a cab," she said. "You can pay for it with the tip you were gonna give me."

He nodded slowly and drove back off into the streets of Gotham again. They were silent the whole drive until Jack pulled the car into a garage in a fairly nice area of the city – well, anyplace that had a garage had to be fairly upscale. And the paint on the outside of the apartment building was clean and new. And Harley saw, rather jealously as they went inside, that the complex even had an elevator.

Jack unlocked the door to his apartment and Harley looked around enviously at the space. Jack's classy style was reflected in his decoration – the house looked to belong to someone well off, but not showy about it. There were paintings on the walls and tiny sculptures for decoration, and the furniture was of good quality. Jack flicked on a lamp so Harley could see better, and she felt the injustice of it all burning the pit of her stomach when she reflected on her own minimal furniture and rotting wallpaper in her bare, undecorated apartment.

"It's not fair," she whispered.

"I know," he replied. "Believe me, I know. I spent a good part of my life like you – good kid, working hard, getting nothing in return. But then I saw other people around me prospering, and gaining wealth by doing things that were against the law, things they weren't supposed to do, and I hated how unfair it was too. But rather than beat 'em, I decided to join 'em. And I ain't done too badly for myself," he said, lighting another cigarette.

"What kinda crimes do you do?" she asked.

He shrugged. "You name it, I've probably done it. Criminal Jack-of-all-trades, that's me," he said, grinning. "But for the past two years, my specialty has been bank robbery and bootlegging."

"You must be very proud," said Harley, sarcastically.

"I am," he said. "Aren't you proud when you do a good day's work?"

"And you consider bank robbery and bootlegging to be a good day's work?" asked Harley.

"It takes skill, you gotta admit that!" chuckled Jack. "I can show you, if you want. Got something going down tomorrow night if you wanna come along."

"Are you hoping showing me a crime will impress me?" asked Harley.

"Wouldn't it?" he asked.

She was silent. "I think you're a special girl, Harley," he murmured. "I really do. I've dealt with a lotta women in my time, and they were always shrieking and hysterical when they encountered a criminal. But not you. You're brave and strong…and you stood your ground even when you knew I could've killed you. You were so determined to do the right thing that not even the threat of death would stop you. That kinda resolution is so rare, believe me, but I like it. And now here you are, in the home of a criminal, and you're not afraid. You're still so strong and defiant. It's very impressive."

"Thank you," she said, quietly. "Most men I've met…don't like that about me. They'd prefer me to be a little more submissive…"

"They're idiots," interrupted Jack. "There is nothing more rare or attractive than strength of character. And you've got that in spades."

Harley felt herself trembling. "You smoke?" he asked, heading over to the fireplace and opening a box of cigarettes.

"No," she murmured. "Thank you."

"That's a shame," he said. "No more beautiful sight in the world than a gal with a cigarette. Except a gal with a gun, of course."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun. "You ever held one?" he asked.

Harley shook her head. "You wanna?" he asked, holding it out to her.

She nodded, taking the gun with trembling hands. The metal felt so smooth and dangerous, and she felt a sudden jolt of power holding a weapon, a weapon that could theoretically kill someone, that probably already had killed lots of people…

Jack grinned. "You should put that down if you don't want me to kiss you again," he murmured, putting out his cigarette.

Harley said nothing, but aimed the gun at him, sliding her finger along the trigger. He didn't even flinch, approaching her slowly until the barrel of the gun pressed into his chest. She stared up into his beautiful green eyes, deep and intense. She had the power to kill him, to blast a hole into his chest right now…and it was the single most thrilling experience of her life.

He kissed her again and she moaned, dropping the gun and pulling him into her hungry embrace. He lifted her into his arms and she wrapped her legs around his waist, working to unbutton his shirt.

"Mmm, I thought you weren't that kinda girl," he murmured, carrying her into the bedroom.

"What, a bad one?" she whispered, grinning. "It's the only kind I wanna be anymore, Jack."

He chuckled, pressing her down on the bed. This was crazy, Harley knew, but she didn't care. She had been good little Harleen Quinzel all her life. And now was her time to be a little bad.


	3. Chapter 3

Harley awoke slowly the next morning, sleepily snuggling into the bed and wondering why it was so comfortable all of the sudden. And she heard birdsong – that was weird. There were definitely no birds near her apartment building – it was all stone and concrete. And then there was the sun shining into the room - that never happened as sun didn't penetrate the courtyard that faced her windows. And she was suddenly aware of the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen, and the music of a radio playing a slow jazzy tune…

She sat up with a start, confused as to where she was and what on earth was going on. And then her memories of last night gradually came back, and she felt herself blushing as she reached for her clothes strewn about the floor. She didn't know what had possessed her, she thought as she dressed. In the cold light of day, she felt like she had acted like a complete tart, jumping into bed with a man she barely knew, and a criminal no less. And while the whole thing had been absolutely incredible, she couldn't help but feel slightly guilty about it.

She left the bedroom and followed the jazz and the sizzling of bacon into the kitchen. There stood the criminal she had met and gone to bed with yesterday, and she felt herself blushing again as she looked at him, remembering last night.

He turned and smiled at her, and her heart leapt again at the most beautiful sight in the world. "Good morning," he said.

"Good…good morning," she stammered.

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, turning the bacon over in the pan.

"Very…uh…soundly," she said. "Your bed's a lot more comfortable than mine. And I guess I was tired out from…from…"

He chuckled. "Now don't go all shy on me, Harley, not after last night," he murmured, kissing her forehead tenderly.

"I just honestly don't know what you must think of me," she said, flushing. "After the way I acted last night, it was just shameful, and I'm not usually like that…"

"You were magnificent," he interrupted. "You should be like that more often."

She grinned at him. "Well, now I remember why I went to bed with you, Mr. Napier," she murmured. "You are a regular charmer."

"Jack," he corrected, planting a gentle kiss on her lips.

"Mmm, Jack," she murmured, kissing him. "But you said that wasn't your real name."

"It's one of my names," he said, shrugging. "It's the one I like my doll to call me in bed."

"Is that what I am?" asked Harley, grinning. "Your doll?"

"You'd better believe it," he said, kissing her again. "Now have a seat – breakfast is almost ready."

"Aw, I'd love to stay for breakfast, Jack, but I'm already late for work…" began Harley.

"My doll doesn't have to go to work," he interrupted. "And she certainly doesn't have to spend her days in some hellhole of a diner being harassed by awful customers. Why, if some creep made a pass at you today, I'd have to do a lot worse than break his fingers for trying to get his hands on my doll."

"What would you do?" asked Harley, grinning.

"Stuff you don't wanna hear about when you're about to have breakfast," he replied with a smile. "Now c'mon, eat up. We got lots to do today."

"Like what?" asked Harley, sitting down at the table as he served the food.

"Well, if you really wanna come watch the heist tonight, we gotta do some shopping," he replied.

"Shopping?" repeated Harley, puzzled.

"Yeah. Can't go on a heist dressed like a waitress," he said.

"I do have other clothes at my apartment," replied Harley. "Not many, but…"

"Anything fancy?" he asked.

"Why would I need fancy clothes to watch a heist?" asked Harley.

"Because I'm taking you out beforehand, and the place we're heading has a dress code," replied Jack. "It's where I meet my associates. Real classy joint. Plus I want them to get a good first impression of my doll. I want you to knock their socks off, just like you've knocked off mine," he added, kissing her.

Harley grinned. "Well, I dunno that I can afford anything too fancy…"

"My doll doesn't spend her own money!" chuckled Jack. "She gets treated by her adoring paramour. He makes sure his doll has all the fancy stuff she could want. That is, if you don't object to stuff being bought for you with dirty money, like you did last night. Although judging by later last night, you don't really object to dirty stuff," he chuckled.

"Jack, stop it!" giggled Harley, hitting him playfully. She popped a slice of bacon into her mouth and sighed. "Oh wow…it's been ages since I had bacon! Meat's so expensive – I can't remember the last time I had it as the main course of a meal."

He kissed her. "Get used to the good life, kiddo," he murmured. "Things only get better from here."

After breakfast, Jack took Harley to a department store and made her pick out a dress. Harley decided on a long, elegant red and black dress that hugged her figure, with a red and black feathered hat, gloves, and boa. Jack raved over the look when she tried it on in the dressing room.

"But something's still missing," he said, studying her. "Aha, I know what it is!" he exclaimed, reaching into his pocket. "My baby's neck is still a little bare."

"Oh…Jack!" gasped Harley, as he opened a box to reveal a huge, sparkling diamond necklace. "I can't…accept that! It's too much!"

He chuckled, coming around behind her and fastening the necklace around her neck. "Actually, I think you'll find it was a steal, baby," he whispered, nuzzling her throat.

Harley touched the necklace, her heart beating in apprehension and excitement at the idea that she was wearing stolen goods. It was so bad and so wrong and she loved it.

"You just look a picture, baby," he said, kissing her. "Like a million bucks! Gonna make a splash at the club tonight for sure!"

"What kinda club is it?" asked Harley.

He chuckled. "It's got music and dancing and…let's just say I keep 'em supplied with their most popular libation."

Harley gaped at him. "You mean it's…it's…a speakeasy?" she whispered, lowering her voice. "And it sells…alcohol?"

"Yeah. Classy joint, like I said," said Jack. "You'll meet all kinds of people there, most of 'em criminals, but most of 'em charming."

"Yes, I know how charming you people can be," she murmured, kissing him.

"You're one now too, baby, don't you forget," he murmured, running a finger down her necklace. "By association."

"Mmm, that's a rather wicked thought, isn't it?" she purred. "And such an exciting one, Jack. Why don't we head home to yours and I can thank you for all this properly?"

"Anything my baby wants!" chuckled Jack. "Can't play around in bed too long, though. We gotta be nice and presentable when I introduce you at Arkham."


	4. Chapter 4

The Arkham Club certainly didn't look like much from the outside, thought Harley, as Jack pulled up the stolen car in front of an ugly, dreary-looking building with faded paint and peeling letters through which Harley could just make out the name of the place. Steps led up to a solid, iron door with a small slit at the top, that looked more like the entrance to a prison than the entrance to a club.

Jack opened the door and held out a hand to help her from the car. "Don't look so nervous, kiddo!" he chuckled. "You're gonna knock 'em dead! Just look at you!"

"I feel like an imposter," she said. "I've never worn anything this fancy or expensive…what if I say or do the wrong thing and people find out I'm just some dumb waitress…"

He kissed her firmly, silencing her. "You ain't dumb," he said. "And you ain't a waitress. You're my doll, and she's the most classy, beautiful, intelligent girl I've ever know. And that's without even trying," he added, grinning. "Just be yourself, Harley. That's more than enough."

Harley beamed, kissing him. "What did I ever do to deserve you, Jack?" she asked.

"Brought me coffee!" he chuckled. "And a steak! Do that and I'm all yours, baby!"

Harley giggled as she followed Jack up the steps. He rapped sharply on the door, and the slit at the top opened.

"We're closed," snapped an unpleasant voice.

"It's Jack. Open up," said Jack.

"Don't know any Jack. Go away," said the voice.

Jack sighed. "The password is _loco_."

The door instantly opened to reveal a huge, hulking brute of a man. "Good evening, _Señor_ Napier, and welcome," he said.

"Thanks, Mr. Bane," said Jack, pulling out a few bills and sliding them into the man's suit pocket. "Something for yourself, my good man."

" _Muchas gracias, Señor_ ," said the man. " _Señorita_ ," he said, bowing slightly to Harley. "Enjoy your evening."

Harley smiled nervously at him, thinking he could probably crush her neck with just a few of his fingers, and with minimal effort. But her attention was immediately drawn away from the strange man as she and Jack descended down the stairs into Arkham.

The first thing she noticed was the noise – peppy jazz music blared through the club from the band seated on stage, surrounding a very attractive red-haired woman in a long, close-fitting green dress who was singing into a microphone. The lights were focused on her, and the rest of the club was very dark, the figures seated around the tables facing the stage mostly hidden in shadow.

Suddenly, Harley recognized a familiar figure and did a double take, as Jack pulled out a chair for her at an empty table near the stage. "Is that…the District Attorney?" she gasped.

Jack chuckled. "Yep, that's Harvey Dent!" he laughed. "You see him around here a lot. This club has all kindsa distractions for him. One in particular," he said, nodding at the red-headed woman singing on stage. She flashed a smile at Dent, a strong, well-built, attractive young man who sat in front of the stage, smoking and staring at her with a kind of possessive admiration. He was just as handsome as in his posters that were plastered all over town, and that had won him an almost unanimous election, thought Harley. But he wasn't nearly as handsome as her Jack.

"Good-looking guy, huh?" asked Jack, casually.

"You jealous?" she asked, grinning at him.

"Don't have anything to be jealous about, baby!" he chuckled. "Do I?"

"Of course not," retorted Harley. "Anyway, he ain't as handsome as you. I'm just surprised to see him here, is all. You said this place was full of crooks."

Jack laughed. "And what makes you think the DA ain't a crook?" he asked. "Most of City Hall is. That's how things are in Gotham."

"J, welcome back to my humble establishment," exclaimed a short, fat man with a cigarette holder and monocle, approaching them.

"Always good to see you, Pengers!" chuckled Jack.

"Please don't call me that," snapped the man, with a scowl. "And who is your charming companion?" he asked, smiling as he turned to Harley.

"This is Harleen Quinzel, my doll," said Jack. "Harley, this is Oswald Cobblepot, the owner of this joint. Though he's more casually known as the Penguin."

"A name not of my own choosing, nor one I am overly fond of hearing," retorted Cobblepot, glaring at Jack. But he smiled again, bowing low and kissing Harley's hand. "My dear, you are most welcome. Mr. Napier is a very lucky man. Could I bring you both some light refreshment? Perhaps some lemonade, which Mr. Napier keeps us well supplied with?"

Jack chuckled. "Yeah, two sparkling lemonades for me and my doll, Pengers," he said.

Cobblepot waddled off as Harley looked at Jack in confusion. "Lemonade? I thought you said…"

"It ain't real lemonade, kid," laughed Jack. "Sparkling lemonade is slang for champagne."

"Oh. Champagne," said Harley. "I've…never had champagne before."

"You're in for a treat," said Jack. "This is the good stuff. Home brewed, of course, like all hooch nowadays, but the guys I get it from are geniuses with that kinda stuff. Best moonshine anyone's ever tasted. Even splitting it with the two of them, I make a very tidy profit," he said, lighting up a cigarette. "In fact, I'm meeting 'em here to give them their cut, but I don't see 'em yet," he said, looking around.

"Hard to see anyone in this place," commented Harley.

"Well, the folks who come here sometimes don't wanna be seen," said Jack, shrugging.

The woman on stage had reached the finale and peak of her number, and Harley turned to stare at her, impressed. "Wow, she's really good!" she said to Jack as the whole club burst into applause.

"She knows it too!" chuckled Jack.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for the beautiful and deadly Poison Ivy!" said the conductor of the band, as the woman curtseyed to cheers and wolf whistles. "We're gonna take a quick break, and then we'll be the back with the sultry stylings of Miss Selina Kyle, the Catwoman! Don't go away!"

The woman, Poison Ivy, sauntered off the stage and over to the table where Harvey Dent sat. He held open his arms to her and she curled up into his lap, kissing him lustfully.

"Boy, Ivy is killing it tonight, Pengers," said Jack, as Cobblepot returned with two glasses and a bottle of champagne.

"I'm glad you think so – I think she's been distracted and slightly off ever since her courtship with our illustrious DA began," muttered Cobblepot, biting down on his cigarette holder as he glared over to where Ivy and Dent were entwined in a passionate embrace. "I'm going to have a word with her about that when she gets a free moment."

"Good luck," chuckled Jack. "She ain't gonna give him up, and he ain't gonna give her up."

"Then I might have to start looking for a new star," retorted Cobblepot. "What about you, Miss Quinzel? Have you ever performed?"

"You mean sing up on stage in front of a buncha people like that?" asked Harley. She laughed. "No, I ain't ever done that! I'd be scared stiff!"

"Aw, I'm sure you'd be great, baby!" chuckled Jack. "Maybe Pengers will let you try it sometime, huh?"

"You'd be welcome to audition, Miss Quinzel," replied Cobblepot. "You've certainly got the looks."

"She does, doesn't she, Pengers?" said Jack, grinning at Harley as Cobblepot waddled off. Jack raised his glass. "To my beautiful Harley doll. Cheers."

"Cheers," said Harley, beaming at him. She sipped her champagne, and then choked, coughing it up. "Sorry…wasn't expecting that…to be so bubbly!" she gasped. "Or strong!"

Jack laughed, kissing her. "Lemme get you some napkins," he murmured, standing up and heading over to the bar.

Harley wiped down her dress as best she could, flushing in embarrassment. "Do allow me, miss," said a voice, suddenly.

She looked up to see a mild-looking, tall, thin man with red hair and glasses holding out a handkerchief to her.

"Aw, gee, thanks, mister," said Harley, taking it from him and smiling.

"Professor," he corrected. "Professor Jonathan Crane. And I'm very pleased to meet you, Miss…" he said, bowing and kissing her hand.

"Harleen Quinzel," replied Harley. "You're a teacher?" she asked, surprised to see one of those in this den of thieves too. "What do you teach?"

"Psychology, at Gotham University," he replied.

"What's psychology?" asked Harley.

"It's a relatively new science - the study of the mind," he replied. "How it works, what ails it, and how we can cure it."

"Wow, that sounds really impressive," said Harley. "So what are you doing here?"

"I'm meeting someone," he said, glancing at his watch. "Someone who's late. As usual."

"Well, it gives you time to sit down and have a drink, I guess," said Harley. "Just be careful what you order – this place serves alcohol, which is actually kinda illegal."

"Does it really?" he asked, surprised. "I had no idea this was an establishment of that sort! I am positively shocked!"

"Johnny, there you are!" exclaimed Jack, returning with a pile of napkins. He clapped Crane on the back, and then reached into his pocket and handed him a wad of cash. "Here's your cut for the last shipment of booze."

"…yes, thank you, J," snapped Crane, pocketing the money.

"Oh. So…you're not a teacher?" asked Harley.

"I am, part-time, but this pays so much better," replied Crane.

"Have a seat and join us – I see you already met my doll," said Jack, pulling out a chair for him.

"Your doll?" repeated Crane, his face falling in disappointment. "Oh. I see. Yes. Well, she's positively charming, and if I may say so, quite the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Thank you very much, Professor Crane," said Harley, smiling at him.

"Jonathan, please, my dear," he said.

"Johnny's one of the guys who makes the moonshine," said Jack. "He supplies it, I distribute it."

"I also supply the facility for its production, and help with the fermentation process," said Crane. "It's quite fascinating stuff."

"Yeah, Jack says it's the best moonshine available," said Harley. "How do you get to be so good at making that?"

"Well, it's actually all a matter of chemistry, my dear," he replied. "Basic chemical processes that can be synthesized in a lab, but on a larger scale…"

"If I wanted to be bored by chemistry lectures, Professor, I would've stayed in school," interrupted Jack, sipping his glass of champagne.

"It certainly wouldn't have done you any harm," retorted Crane.

Jack smiled at him. "Where's your partner tonight?" he asked.

"My _business_ partner will be here presently," snapped Crane.

"Oh. Kinda thought you two lived together," said Jack.

"We do, but that doesn't mean we're always together," retorted Crane. "I mean, we do spend a lot of time together making and processing the alcohol, but we're not _always_ together…"

"Jonathan, there you are!" said a voice, as a small, immaculately dressed man in a top hat came over to them. "It was my understanding that we were driving here together, but you had already gone when I got home from the factory and I was forced to take a cab." He spoke with an unfamiliar accent which led Harley to believe that he was not a local.

"I was just saying to J how we're not always together," muttered Crane. "Anyway, you were late."

"I was perfectly on time, as always," retorted the man, pulling out a gold pocket watch. "I am never late, but especially not for very important dates. And getting paid certainly counts as a very important date."

Jack laughed, tossing a stack of bills at the man. "There's your cut, Jervis. Let me introduce you to my girl, Harleen Quinzel. Harley, this is Jervis Tetch, Johnny's partner in the moonshine production business."

"Charmed, my dear," said Tetch, kissing her hand.

"You're not from around Gotham, are you?" asked Harley.

"Not originally, no – I am from England," he replied.

"England?" repeated Harley. "Wow. You've come a long way to break the law!"

She flushed in embarrassment, realizing that she should think before she spoke. "Sorry, that came out wrong, I mean…"

"No offense taken, my dear, I assure you," interrupted Tetch, with a smile. "When a law is nonsense, I should think one almost obliged to break it. To obey it would be madness, especially when there is such profit in disobeying it. But this country seems to have been taken over by madmen recently. We English consider alcohol our natural birthright. The idea that the law could ban it is positively abhorrent, against nature, and just plain nonsense. Not that I drink myself, but people should certainly be allowed to if they want to."

"Yeah, it's a matter of individual freedom," agreed Jack. "Personal liberty. The law needs to keep its big nose outta it."

"What's this about the law?" asked a voice. Harley turned to see that Harvey Dent had come over to their table with Poison Ivy on his arm.

"We weren't talking about you, Harvey," said Jack, with a grin. "Nothing wrong with the size of your nose, or where you stick it. If only people in your position across the country were so entirely reasonable."

"Well, of course, if the District Attorney's office had any knowledge of any illegal activity being performed, we would have to act on it," said Dent, lighting up a cigarette. "But the DA's office doesn't have any knowledge of such activities."

"Of course not, Harvey," chuckled Jack. "Glass of lemonade?" he asked, holding up the bottle of champagne.

"Thank you, J," he said, pulling up a chair. "Who's your friend?" he asked, nodding at Harley.

"This is my doll, Harleen Quinzel," said Jack. "Harley, the District Attorney, Harvey Dent, and his doll, Pamela Isley, better known by her stage name Poison Ivy."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Dent - I voted for you," said Harley.

"Always a pleasure to meet a supporter," said Dent, kissing her hand. "Mr. Napier is a very lucky man to have such a stunning creature on his arm. But I believe not quite as lucky as me," he added, kissing Ivy.

"You sounded great," said Harley, smiling at Ivy. "Must be so scary singing in front of a crowd like that. I mean, glamorous, but scary."

"Not really," replied Ivy. "You don't even have to hit every note when you're an attractive woman singing in front of a crowd of men. Mostly their attention won't be on your voice."

"Yeah, Pengers was saying he's noticed you're not hitting every note," chuckled Jack. "Blames you for being distracted by a certain lawman, though."

"The little creep thinks he owns me just because he pays my salary," muttered Ivy, taking her glass of champagne from Dent. "He actually told me that he thinks I'm getting above myself just because I refuse to see other guys but Harvey after the show. Nygma keeps pestering me especially, and I've told him no a thousand times. It'll be a cold day in hell before I service that little rat. But Penguin says it's bad for business, because men come here expecting a certain amount of privilege with the performers. I told him he should go hire prostitutes if that's what he wants," she snorted, as Dent lit her cigarette for her.

"Maybe he will!" chuckled Jack. "Not that the DA's office would have any knowledge of that, of course!"

"Rumor is you got a job going down later tonight, J," said Dent, puffing on his cigarette. "Which of course the DA's office has no official knowledge of."

"Yeah, simple bank heist at Gotham National – I'm taking Harley along," said Jack. "Think she'll like to watch. She does have kinda an attraction to danger."

"Clearly, to be involved with you," retorted Crane.

"Yeah, it shouldn't be too dangerous though," said Dent, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "The security there's pretty lax, and the police response time has been regrettably shoddy lately. It's almost as if someone's had a word with the Commissioner."

Jack chuckled. "Thanks, Harvey, you're a pal."

"I'll be expecting ten percent, as usual," he replied. "Which I think is quite reasonable for a kickback."

"Nobody could ever accuse you of being an unreasonable guy, Harvey," laughed Jack, grinning.

He smiled. "Well, if you'll excuse us, Miss Ivy and I have some things to do in the privacy of her dressing room," he said, standing up and taking her hand. "See you later, gentlemen. Miss Quinzel," he said, bowing and kissing her hand again. "Such a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, we should probably get going too," said Jack, glancing at his watch. "Don't wanna be late for my own heist. When's the next batch of moonshine gonna be ready for distribution, boys? Demand's real high, and the customers have been breathing down my neck lately."

"It'll be a few days," said Tetch. "But there should be plenty to go around, don't worry."

"Great. I'll see you boys then," said Jack, clapping him on the back.

"It was so very nice to meet you, Miss Quinzel," said Crane, kissing Harley's hand. "Please do come here again."

"I will," said Harley.

"And do take care of yourself on the heist tonight," said Tetch. "Not all of us have the stomach for such dangerous criminal activity."

"Don't you worry, boys – I'll look after my doll," chuckled Jack, kissing Harley's cheek. "C'mon, baby, let's beat it."

He led her back up the steps out of the nightclub just as another attractive, dark-haired woman in a close-fitting black gown took the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Selina Kyle, the Catwoman!" shouted the conductor, as the band struck up another lively, jazzy tune. The giant man opened the door for them, and then they were outside, in the dreary, dark, silent streets of Gotham, the music and laughter and conversation shut out with the door after them.

Jack chuckled, kissing her. "You look a little shell-shocked, baby. What's the matter?"

"Just…I've never been anyplace like that," said Harley. "It was loud and fun and exciting and just…wow!"

Jack laughed, helping her back into the car. "Trust me, kid," he murmured. "You ain't seen nothing yet."


	5. Chapter 5

Jack pulled up the car in front of the Gotham National Bank. "Here," he said, handing Harley a gun. She felt her heart beating in excitement again.

"What do you expect me to do with this?" she asked.

"Point it at people," he replied. "Don't worry – you shouldn't need to shoot anyone. The threat of violence usually makes everyone nice and cooperative, without resorting to any actual violence."

"Jack," she said, catching his arm as he prepared to leave the car.

"What?" he asked.

She paused. "Why…are you doing this? With the way you throw around cash, and the bootlegging and all…you can't possibly need more money."

He laughed, kissing her. "You're right," he murmured. "I don't. I do it because it's fun."

"Fun?" repeated Harley.

"Yeah. You'll see," he said, climbing out of the car and opening her door. "C'mon."

Harley nodded as she took his hand, her heart beating louder in anticipation and anxiety.

Jack shot the lock off the bank doors and kicked them open. "All right, don't move, old timer!" he chuckled at the one, elderly security guard on the night shift. "Just go open the vaults!"

The man nodded, shaking in terror, as Jack followed him to the back of the building where he unlocked a huge, metal door revealing stacks of cash.

"Go keep watch for the cops, sweetheart," said Jack, as he began loading the cash into a bag. "Though we should be outta here in plenty of time."

Harley nodded, heading over to the window. She glanced outside at the empty street, and then her eyes narrowed. "Jack!" she called.

"What?" he asked, not turning around.

"I thought it was gonna take awhile for the cops to get here," she said.

"It usually does," he said. "Why?"

"Because there's a car coming," she said, pointing out the window as a dark car pulled up in front of the bank.

He raced over to her, glaring outside, and swore loudly. "Dammit, those ain't the cops!" he muttered.

"Who are they?" she asked.

"Pinkertons," he muttered.

Harley's breath caught in her throat. She had heard of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, a private law enforcement organization hired by wealthy businessmen to do all kinds of dirty work, from breaking up labor strikes to hunting down known outlaws.

"We gotta get outta here – Pinks shoot first and ask questions later," muttered Jack, throwing the bag of cash over his shoulder and grabbing her hand as he searched for an alternate way out of the bank.

"There's no other way out," said the security guard, smugly. "You're trapped."

Harley tried to fight the rising panic as she heard the footsteps of men approaching the door of the bank. Jack shoved her down behind the counter and crouched next to her, keeping his gun pointed at the security guard.

"You squeal, and you're dead!" he hissed at him.

The door opened and Harley could hear the footsteps of several men making their way across the floor of the bank. "Evening," said a voice to the security guard. "Everything all right in here?"

"Yes, sir, everything's fine," replied the guard.

"You know anything about that car parked out front?" asked the man. "Not yours, is it?"

"No, sir," replied the guard.

"Only it's been reported stolen," continued the man. "You know anything about that?"

Harley could feel the tension in the air – she was sure the men could hear her heart hammering in her chest. She was trembling in fear, but Jack's hand was on her arm, steadying her.

"No, sir," repeated the guard. "But…the guy behind the counter might."

Jack swore loudly, starting up and firing a bullet into the guard's head, killing him instantly. He then whirled around, shooting at the five remaining men in the room. Harley heard bullets whizzing over her head and burying themselves in the counter as the men fired back.

"Harley, stay down!" roared Jack over the noise, continuing to fire. He hissed in sudden pain as Harley saw a bullet bury itself in his shoulder, blood splattering everywhere. She felt Jack's hot blood splash onto her face and trail down her cheek, and her fury suddenly ignited.

She stood up next to Jack, blasting shots from her gun out at the men. Jack had already taken down three of them – the two remaining ducked behind pillars at the double onslaught, peeking out to fire haphazardly at them.

"Run!" shouted Jack, grabbing the loot and racing out from behind the counter toward the door, still shooting. Harley followed him, bullets hissing through the air around them as they ran across the floor. She fired back, and was pleased to hear a strangled cry, and see a man fall to the ground.

And then they were outside. They both jumped into the car, Jack hissing in pain as he slammed the door with his good shoulder. Then he started the engine and they sped off into the dark streets of Gotham City.

Harley panted, gasping for breath. Her body was alive and throbbing in fear and excitement – she had never felt such a rush as this, the thrill of being in such mortal danger. She glanced at Jack, and could see he felt the same, his face flushed and panting, but his eyes shining with a bright vitality and joy.

"How's your shoulder?" she gasped.

"Fine," he replied, moving it and wincing. "I've had worse."

"That was…that was…amazing!" gasped Harley.

He chuckled. "Amazing? We both coulda been killed!"

"I know – it's kinda wrong to be so excited by that, huh?" she asked.

He laughed. "Wouldn't be the first wrong thing you've been excited about," he murmured, grinning at her.

Every fiber in Harley's body was tingling. "Pull the car over, Jack," she whispered.

"We should wait until we get back home," he murmured. "One of the Pinkertons survived – he could be after us."

"I can't wait until we get home," she whispered. "I need you right now."

He chuckled. "Dammit, baby, you're a doll after my own heart," he murmured, pulling the car over into an alley.

Harley barely waited for it to stop before she was on top of him. "Easy, baby, watch the shoulder!" he hissed as Harley kissed him wildly.

"I killed a guy, Jack," she whispered in between kisses as she worked to pull his clothes off. "He was trying to shoot you…us…and I killed him. It was him or me, and I won. God, it was so primal!"

"Told you it was fun, baby!" he chuckled, undressing her.

"He made you bleed," she hissed, kissing the bullet wound. "I'll kill anyone who makes you bleed, who hurts you in any way! You're my bad, bad, bad man, and I never felt alive until I met you! I need to feel it all the time, every day. I need to be with you, all the time, every day."

He laughed, flipping her over and pressing her down in the backseat. Harley stared up at him, beaming. "My bad, bad, bad man saved me from a fate worse than death," she whispered. "And I love him so much."

"Oh, Harley, baby," he whispered, nuzzling her bloodstained cheek. "I love you too."

Harley didn't care who heard them as she cried out in pleasure. Life always began with crying, after all. And Harley's life had finally begun.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sir, what happened?" asked Alfred, as Bruce Wayne opened the door to Wayne Manor, covered in blood. "Where are the others?"

"Dead," muttered Bruce.

"Dead?" repeated Alfred, astonished. "He took out all of you?"

"He had an accomplice," growled Bruce. "A woman. She's new."

"A woman, sir?" said Alfred. "Good Lord, I can't imagine what sort of man involves a woman in crime."

"A monster, that's what sort of man," said Bruce. "That's what that bastard Napier is, Alfred. A monster."

He took a seat in front of the fireplace, burying his face in his hands. "God, I shouldn't have put the others in danger," he whispered. "I should have handled this myself. It's my city, my problem…"

"You can't fight the rampant crime and corruption in Gotham all by yourself, sir," interrupted Alfred, firmly. "Wayne Enterprises was perfectly justified in involving the Pinkerton Agency to hunt down Jack Napier, and they were aware of the risks when they agreed to the job. Truth to tell, I'm grateful you survived the mission. It was foolish and reckless of you to go with them – if you had been killed, who would fight for Gotham?"

"Nobody else gets hurt from now on," muttered Bruce, ignoring him. "Nobody else. The only one going into the firing line is me."

He leaned back, rubbing his temples. "Can you get me Police Commissioner Loeb on the telephone, please, Alfred?"

"At this hour, sir?" asked Alfred. "He'll likely be asleep…"

"It's urgent," interrupted Bruce.

Alfred went over to the telephone and picked up the receiver. "Hello, operator, could you kindly connect me to Police Commissioner Loeb's residence?"

"One moment, sir – we'll put you through," said the operator.

"Thank you," said Alfred. He heard the ringing indicating that the call had been put through and handed the receiver to Bruce.

"Mmm…hello, Police Commissioner Loeb," yawned a tired voice.

"Commissioner, this is Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Enterprises," said Bruce. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but I really must speak with you at once. There's been a robbery at the Gotham National Bank."

"I'm sure the men on duty are handling it, Mr. Wayne…" began Loeb.

"No, they were not," interrupted Bruce. "In fact, there was no sign of your men at all. I was there with some men from the Pinkerton agency, and your men only showed up about an hour after the perpetrators had fled the scene."

"No doubt they were preoccupied with another crime elsewhere," retorted Loeb. "We can't police all the crimes in this city all the time, Mr. Wayne – we don't have the men."

"That's funny, because I thought your job was to police all the crimes in this city all the time," retorted Bruce. "You should hire more men if necessary. But I honestly don't think that was the problem tonight, Commissioner. While Pinkerton's men, brave men, were gunned down by some murdering lunatic, I think your men were deliberately ignoring the crime."

"And why would they do that?" asked Loeb.

"Because you told them to," retorted Bruce. "Because you were paid to do it. Someone working with Napier paid you to do it. Someone in power. I don't know who precisely, but I'll find out. And when I do, your days as Police Commissioner will be over."

"Mr. Wayne, am I to understand that you've woken me up at this ungodly hour to accuse me of taking bribes?" asked Loeb. "Because I would have a few choice words for you if that was the case. The most pertinent of which are prove it."

"Oh, don't worry, I will," snapped Bruce. "But I just wanted to let you know that I know. I want that shadow of doubt and suspicion to haunt you, the uncertainty that I might find something to follow you around like your own shadow. I want you to always be looking over your shoulder, because I guarantee you, you are being watched. And you will be caught. Pleasant dreams, Commissioner."

He hung up the telephone. "What's your next move, sir?" asked Alfred, taking the phone back from him and replacing it on the table.

Bruce was silent, lost in thought. "I have to do this alone," he murmured. "I can't live with more blood on my hands, with a guiltier conscience than I already have. First my parents die because of me, and now…"

"Your parents' death was not your fault, sir," said Alfred, firmly. "You mustn't think that."

"If I hadn't dragged them to the show that night…" began Bruce, but then he shook his head slowly. "No, it wasn't my fault. It was theirs," he muttered. "It was the criminal scum of Gotham City, the lawless maniacs that run around without punishment, who the police ignore and collaborate with. It was one of their number who gunned my parents down in that alley while I was powerless to stop it. I swore on my parents' graves, Alfred, that I would bring their murderer to justice and restore order to this city of chaos and villainy. And I will not break my oath."

He stood up, beginning to pace. "I've been going about this all wrong," he muttered. "I've been trying to use force and violence on people who love force and violence. It won't work – they're not afraid of the things they face every day. I need to be smarter than they are. Criminals are a superstitious, cowardly lot, you know, Alfred."

The telephone rang suddenly. "Answer that, will you, Alfred?" asked Bruce.

Alfred nodded, picking up the receiver. "Hello, Mr. Wayne's residence?" he said. He listened, and then handed the receiver to Bruce. "It's for you, sir. It's Miss Kyle."

Bruce sighed. As a wealthy, single, man-about-town, he regularly made the acquaintance of a number of young ladies, and he had recently met Selina Kyle at a dance hall called _The Cat's Meow._ After a few dances, he had taken her back to Wayne Manor, and they had enjoyed a very pleasant evening together. Bruce had thought that would be the end of it, but Miss Kyle was more determined to keep in contact than he had given her credit for. He supposed that was natural – she had intimated that she wasn't a particularly wealthy young woman, and the prospect of a long-term relationship with a rich man was obviously very appealing.

"Selina, hello," he said.

"Hi, Bruce," she purred. "I just got off work and I was wondering if you wanted to come pick me up. We could go back to yours."

"Actually, I've had a fairly long day, Selina," he said. "I just got in myself and I'm really tired…"

"Oh. Ok. Don't worry about it, then," said Selina, obvious disappointment in her voice. "Maybe tomorrow night, huh? I get off work at midnight…"

"Selina, where did you put my bottle of champagne from Harvey?" snapped a voice on the other end suddenly.

"It's in your dressing room where you left it, Ivy – just open your eyes!" snapped Selina. "And keep it down, would ya? I'm on the phone here!"

Bruce was silent. "Sorry, Selina, I couldn't help overhearing – did that woman say champagne?" he asked.

Selina giggled. "Oh yeah. Didn't I tell ya, Brucie? I work in a real fancy club. Sells all kindsa special things that aren't widely available. You should stop by some night – I'll show you a good time."

"Yes. Yes, I will, Selina," said Bruce, a plan forming in his mind. "How's tomorrow night for you?"


	7. Chapter 7

The loud, big brass strains of upbeat ragtime music rocked the walls of Arkham as Harley and Jack danced, shuffling through a swing routine together. Harley had never really danced before, but Jack was very talented at it, even with a bandaged shoulder. He led her capably along the floor, and she was happy to be guided by his firm, strong hands.

The song ended and the dancers applauded the band. "Thanks, folks – we're gonna mellow things out a little here with the sensual soul of Miss Poison Ivy," said the conductor, as Ivy appeared on stage to rapturous applause. She began singing a slow, soulful number, and Jack pulled Harley into his arms, holding her close as they swayed across the floor. Harley put her arms around his neck, sighing in delight.

" _Guess I'm a fool for needing you like I do,_

 _Guess I'm a fool for wanting you near,_

 _Guess I'm a fool for dreading losing you,_

 _But I'll be your fool as long as you're here._

 _It's kinda a joke, it's kinda all fun -  
_

 _You and me, look at us, we're a pair._

 _Guess I'm a fool for thinking you're the one,_

 _Guess I'm a fool for loving you – I don't care._

 _Guess I'm a fool who's crazy to want you,_

 _Guess I'm a fool for wanting to stay,_

 _But the madness is something I'm used to,_

 _And no one will pull me away._

 _Guess I'm a fool for wanting forever,_

 _Guess I'm a fool in so many ways,_

 _But a fool is happy forever,_

 _And the madness is here to stay_."

Ivy finished her song and Jack dipped Harley down, kissing her. Harley pulled him close, beaming. She had never been this happy before, and she never could have imagined being this happy only a few short days ago. So much had changed since then, and all of it for the better. It was crazy, how much everything was different, and how fast it had all happened, but she loved the craziness more than anything else. Except Jack, of course.

"Let's get a glass of sparkling lemonade and sit the next dance out, huh, baby?" whispered Jack.

"Sure thing, puddin'," she said.

"What have I said about that name?" he asked, leading her over to a table in front of the stage.

"If you can call me baby and doll, I don't see any reason why I can't have a cute nickname for you, puddin'," she replied, playing with his bowtie.

"Those are nowhere near the same kinda name as puddin'," retorted Jack. "How would you like it if I called you puddin'? Or…cupcake? Or…pumpkin pie?"

"I'd love it," replied Harley. "They're cute names."

"Well, I don't love puddin'," retorted Jack.

"Well, I ain't gonna stop calling you it," replied Harley. "So I guess you'll have to dump me, puddin'."

Jack chuckled. "Do I look crazy to you, baby?" he murmured.

She shook her head, giggling. "Well, I am," he retorted. "Crazy _for_ you, cupcake. My pretty, perfect little pumpkin pie," he murmured, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her.

"Miss Quinzel, I'm so relieved to see you're all right!" said Jonathan Crane, appearing at the table and interrupting the moment. "I read in the papers something about the Pinkertons at the Gotham National Bank, and feared the worst!"

"Aw, thanks, Professor Crane," said Harley. "It was kinda scary at the time, but…kinda exciting too," she murmured, smiling at Jack.

"Yep, and my Harley doll got to use a gun for the first time," said Jack, grinning. "She's a natural with a weapon. As deadly as she is beautiful."

"Good heavens, you weren't hurt, were you?" asked Crane.

"No, but I was, Johnny," said Jack, pointing at his shoulder. "You ain't concerned for my welfare?"

"No, in the event of your death, Jervis and I would just have to find another distributor," retorted Crane. "A minor inconvenience, at best. But Miss Quinzel's death would be a loss to the world."

"Puddin's death would be the end of _my_ world," purred Harley, kissing Jack. "I won't let anyone hurt him ever. That's why I killed that nasty man who shot him. Just seemed the natural thing to do."

Jack chuckled, pinching her cheek fondly. "Hey, you ain't seen Harvey around, have ya?" he asked Crane. "I got his ten percent, but it's gonna be a lot less than he thought, what with being interrupted in the middle of the robbery and all."

"I'm sure Mr. Dent understands that these things do happen," said Crane. "But no, I haven't seen him tonight. He's not in his customary place from which to admire Miss Ivy."

"Did I hear my name?" asked Poison Ivy, who had left the stage after her latest number.

"Yeah, where's your boyfriend tonight?" asked Jack. "I got his money."

"He had to work late," replied Ivy. "He doesn't like to talk about work in his spare time, but from what I gather, the Police Commissioner wanted to meet with him about something in private. Harvey said he sounded a little cagey."

"Yeah, must be stressful being surrounded by criminals all the time!" chuckled Jack, lighting up a cigarette as Cobblepot came over with a bottle of champagne. "I don't know how he manages it!"

"Pamela, if Selina still isn't here in five minutes, you're going to have to go on," said Cobblepot.

"I already did my set, Oswald," snapped Ivy, lighting up her own cigarette. "It's my break time. If the other girl you hired isn't dependable, that's not my problem."

"She's never been late before, so I don't understand…" began Cobblepot, but Bane opened the door suddenly to reveal Selina Kyle striding into the club with a man on her arm.

"There you are, Selina!" exclaimed Cobblepot, rushing over to her. "Go get changed and ready at once!"

"All right, Pengers, don't get your flippers in a twist," retorted Selina. "Anyway, I can't leave my date without making introductions. Ivy isn't the only one with a famous boyfriend, y'know," she said, smiling triumphantly as she headed over to the table.

"Everyone, this is Bruce Wayne," she said, loudly. "Of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce, this is Poison Ivy, my fellow performer here at Arkham," she said, gesturing at her. "And Professor Jonathan Crane, Jack Napier, and…sorry, sweetheart, didn't catch your name," she said to Harley.

"Oh, Harleen Quinzel," said Harley, holding out her hand to her and smiling. "Jack's doll."

"Yeah, nice to meet you," said Selina, ignoring her hand and turning back to Ivy. "Where's your boyfriend tonight, Ivy?"

"Working late," replied Ivy, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "He's a busy man."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he'll find time for you in his busy schedule soon," said Selina, smugly. "Now you guys make Bruce feel welcome, huh? I gotta get ready for my show. See you soon, Brucie," she purred, kissing him.

"You look kinda familiar, sport," said Jack, smiling at Bruce as he sat down.

"I'm in the papers a lot," muttered Bruce, hoping Jack hadn't got a good look at him during the heist last night.

"Yeah, that must be it!" chuckled Jack. "The life of the rich and famous, eh? I don't envy you. I think it's a blessing to be a poor, simple man with simple tastes," he said, kissing Harley.

"What happened to your shoulder?" asked Bruce, casually.

"Aw, household accident," chuckled Jack. "Pulled a muscle doing some yardwork, ain't that right, baby?" he asked Harley.

"Yeah, you need to be more careful pulling weeds, puddin'," purred Harley, kissing his cheek.

"Would you like a glass of sparkling lemonade, Bruce?" asked Ivy, holding up the champagne bottle.

"Is that real champagne?" asked Bruce.

Ivy grinned. "No, it's sparkling lemonade."

"It will pass a taste test for real champagne, I assure you," said Crane. "You have my personal guarantee. It's not your regular hooch – it's very carefully and specially brewed moonshine."

"He's like a proud father raving about his child," said Ivy, pouring Bruce a glass.

"Does that make Tetchy the mother?" chuckled Jack. "Where is Mommy tonight?"

"He stayed at the factory – he was concerned about some of the alcohol's fermentation process. It's in a very delicate stage and he thought it bore watching, so he elected to stay with it tonight, and…look, we're not some weird pseudo-parent couple!" snapped Crane. "Even though it might sound like that!"

Jack giggled. "When two people love each other very, very much, they can decide to make moonshine together…"

"All right, I'm leaving," snapped Crane, standing up. "Jervis probably wants to split the night shift anyway – we're both halfway responsible for…never mind!" he snapped, realizing how that sounded and storming off.

"So how long have you known Selina, Bruce?" asked Ivy.

"We've been out a couple times," said Bruce.

"She must really trust you a lot to bring you here," commented Ivy.

"Well, sometimes you just know, doncha?" asked Jack, smiling at Harley. "When you meet someone, and it just hits you, like lightning, that they're the one you're meant to be with. You don't need to hesitate then."

Harley beamed, kissing him. "If I know Selina, it's less about trust and more about showing off," retorted Ivy. "She loves to do that. What little she has to show off, of course."

"Oooh, and I thought Selina was the catty one!" chuckled Jack.

Ivy shrugged. "She started this personal and professional rivalry thing – I'm just winning it," she added, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Bringing her rich boyfriend in here as if he could possibly compete with mine."

"Well, if you ask me, nobody could possibly compete with my Jack," said Harley, smiling at him.

"Nobody did ask you, did they?" retorted Ivy.

"Hey, don't speak to my doll that way!" snapped Jack.

"Who's gonna stop me?" she asked, puffing the cigarette into his face. "You?"

"Yeah. You get smart with my doll and I'll see to it that men don't pay to stare at your face no more," retorted Jack.

"My boyfriend would make you pay," said Ivy.

"He couldn't protect you forever," growled Jack.

"Why not? He protects you," snapped Ivy.

Bruce was just about to ask who this boyfriend was – clearly it was the man he had been looking for, someone in power who was protecting criminals. But at that moment, the music started up, and the band leader said, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the playful and pretty kitty, Miss Selina Kyle!"

The distraction broke the tension growing between Ivy and Jack as Selina began her song. Bruce made a mental note to find out about this boyfriend – once he had the name, he could start rooting him out.

He checked his watch, and then looked to the door of the club. He had had a word earlier today with one of Commissioner Loeb's young officers, a man called Captain James Gordon. Captain Gordon was the officer who had handled his parents' murder case, a decent, good man who tried his best to fight crime and corruption in the city, and who needed allies. Bruce trusted him, and he had tipped him off about the speakeasy this morning. Gordon was to follow Bruce and Selina from a safe distance, and then return with a group of his men and raid the place, catching all of these criminals red-handed.

Selina's song was suddenly interrupted by a loud crashing against the door, and then Bane shouted, " _La Policia!_ "

Bruce expected some sort of reaction from the patrons – screaming and panicking and a desperate bid to escape. But Jack merely sighed, sipping his champagne. "This farce again?" he muttered. "Thought your boyfriend had nipped this in the bud, Ivy."

"Gotta keep up appearances sometimes, J," retorted Ivy, shrugging.

Everyone else was similarly nonchalant – Selina immediately resumed her song and the band played on. Bruce looked around him in astonishment at the lack of reaction from everyone even as the police broke down the door. The only one who seemed remotely nervous was Harley, who was scared but tried not to show it, clinging to Jack's arm.

Gordon strode into the club. "Evening, officer," said Jack, standing up and raising his glass to him. "How can we help you?"

Gordon glared at him, and then snatched the glass out of his hand. "Cuff him," he said. "Cuff 'em all. You're all under arrest for the possession and illegal trade of alcohol! I'm shutting this place down!"

Harley shrieked as Jack was shoved face-down on the table as police officers cuffed his hands behind his back. "Jack…"

"Hey, it's ok, baby," he whispered, smiling at her. "It's gonna be ok. Just don't panic, huh? Keep your cute, baby chin up, whatever happens. We'll be outta this soon," he said, winking at her.

Harley was about to ask him what he meant when she too was shoved down on the table and her hands forced behind her back. She tried to hold back tears, her heart beating in terror, but everyone else in the club seemed strangely calm. Some of them even looked bored, as if this was a routine they had done before.

Gordon nodded at Bruce. "Thanks for your help in leading us to this place, Mr. Wayne."

"Great boyfriend you got there, Selina!" laughed Ivy.

"Shut up!" snapped Selina, as her own hands were cuffed behind her back.

"We'll take 'em all to the station for questioning," said Gordon.

"Ask them about Poison Ivy's boyfriend," murmured Bruce. "He appears to be someone high up. But we need a name to bring him to justice."

"You think any of them are going to give him up?" asked Gordon.

Bruce shrugged. "There's no honor among thieves, is there?"

Unfortunately for Bruce, he had severely underestimated this particular band of thieves.


	8. Chapter 8

"Back again, Isley?" asked Matron Leland, warden of the women's section of Gotham City Jail, as the police officers escorted Ivy, Selina, and Harley into the cell block.

"It's Ivy," snapped Ivy, as she was shoved into the empty cell indicated by Leland.

"You're going to have to put all three of them in there together – I'm outta space in the rest of the cell block right now," said Leland. "We're completely full."

"But there are only two beds!" protested Selina, as she was shoved in after Ivy, closely followed by Harley.

"So one of you sleeps on the floor," said Leland, shrugging.

"Or, y'know, you could always share," said one of the officers with an unpleasant grin. "I'd pay to see that."

"Nothing like that goes on in my jail, thank you, officer!" snapped Leland. "You can just fight it out amongst yourselves, ladies."

"I'd pay to see that too!" chuckled the officer as Leland led them out. She returned to see that Ivy and Selina had already claimed the two bunks, leaving Harley shivering in the corner, clearly terrified about being here.

Leland sighed. "First time in jail, huh?" she asked Harley.

She nodded. "It ain't so bad," said Leland. "You get used to it. The girls will tell you that – Isley and Kyle have been in and outta here so many times, they should really start their own tour group."

"Never in here very long, though," retorted Ivy. "A night, a couple nights, a week at most. So stop sniveling, Harley. We'll be outta here soon," she said, lying back down on the top bunk and lighting up a cigarette.

"I used to tell her not to be so sure of herself," sighed Leland. "Now I just agree with her. You stick it out, kid – it'll be over soon," she said to Harley with an encouraging smile. "I'll see if I can find you some spare blankets for the floor."

"Thank…thank you," stammered Harley, who slowly stopped shivering, looking around at the cell. There wasn't much space for the three of them, but she could endure this in the short-term. It was Jack she was concerned for – the men and women had been separated at the police station, and the three of them had been dragged off to jail. She would give anything to know that Jack was all right, to have him here with her, to hold her and comfort her and tell her everything was gonna be fine…

"Thanks a lot, by the way, Selina," muttered Ivy, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "What were you thinking, just bringing a strange guy into Arkham? You gotta know they're our kind of people, that they're trustworthy, before you let 'em in."

"I thought Bruce was," growled Selina.

"You only went out with him a couple times – you just wanted to show off," snapped Ivy.

"Well, maybe I did," admitted Selina. "But he's rich and handsome – forgive me for wanting a future with him."

She lay down on her bunk. "Got a spare smoke?" she asked Ivy.

"Only if you admit you're jealous of Harvey and me," said Ivy, smugly.

Selina sighed. "I'm jealous of Harvey and you," she muttered.

Ivy smirked, passing a cigarette down to her. "What about you, Harley?" she asked. "Cigarette?"

"No, thanks," murmured Harley, taking a seat against the bars and curling up.

"Aw, c'mon, cheer up, kid," said Ivy. "It ain't so bad. I mean, I guess if we were nicer people, we'd let you have a bunk."

"But we're not," said Selina, lighting up her cigarette.

"No, we're not," agreed Ivy, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "But here's what's gonna happen. Harvey's gonna be told the club's been raided, he has a word with the appropriate people in authority, it's all called a misunderstanding, and we're released scot-free. That's what always happens."

"What about the men?" asked Harley.

"Same goes," said Ivy. "Everyone in Arkham knows if they keep their mouths shut about him, he'll get 'em off. That's why Arkham's a very exclusive club. Only loyal people allowed."

"Jesus, Ivy, stop rubbing it in, all right?" demanded Selina. "Being arrested is a minor inconvenience, but it ain't the first time it's happened, and it certainly won't be the last. So just drop it and stop bitching, would ya?"

"I'm allowed to bitch about a minor inconvenience," retorted Ivy. "Time in jail is time I'm not performing, and therefore not getting paid. Penguin doesn't give us paid jail-leave, y'know."

"You'd think he'd be a little sympathetic since it's his fault we're arrested," said Selina. "He's the one selling the booze, after all."

"Actually, it's _your_ fault we're arrested this time," snapped Ivy. "And no, I won't drop it."

"You don't even need to be paid!" snapped Selina. "Your boyfriend buys you everything you could possibly want!"

"Can't ever have too much money, Selina," said Ivy, shrugging. "I think even your rich, so-called boyfriend would agree with that."

"Nah, judging by this, he's an idealist," sighed Selina. "Means he'd probably sacrifice money for principles."

"Idiot," retorted Ivy, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"Looks like J spends a lotta money on you, though," said Selina, turning to Harley. "That's a genuine diamond necklace you're wearing, right? I can always tell genuine diamonds from fakes. Got a passion for them."

"Shame you can't afford 'em," snorted Ivy.

"Oh…yeah, it is real," stammered Harley. "Jack's a real…generous guy. He spoils me."

"I guess some women are just glorified prostitutes," sighed Ivy. "Sleeping with a guy just because he buys 'em a lotta jewelery."

"I'm not with Jack because he buys me stuff!" snapped Harley. "I'm with him because I love him!"

Ivy stared at her. "What's to love?" she asked. "He's not handsome. He's old, he's irritating, and he's gotta be crap in bed."

"No, he ain't!" snapped Harley. "He's great in bed! And he _is_ handsome, and he's not old! He's just the greatest, sweetest guy in the world, and he's done so much for me! He's perfect, and we're perfect together, and I love him!"

Both Selina and Ivy laughed. "Wow, she's got it bad, huh?" chuckled Selina.

"Yeah. You sound completely naive, Harley!" laughed Ivy. "No guy is perfect! Even my Harvey, who's got a helluva lot more going for him than your Jack, has his slight defects. Jesus, it's like you've never been in love before. You think it's true love, huh? Think it's gonna be all Romeo and Juliet?"

"No, that was a tragedy," snapped Harley. "They both died at the end."

"Never read it," said Ivy, shrugging. "Anyway, you need to get those schoolgirl ideas right outta your head. There's no such thing as true love. And no relationship is perfect, just like no guy is perfect. If you're lucky, you get one that's pretty good, and you put up with the defects. But there are always gonna be faults."

"Not with Jack," snapped Harley. "There haven't been any faults. Everything he does, and that we do together…it's just incredible. It's like we're made for each other, meant to be…"

"There it is again!" laughed Selina. "That grand romantic language that innocent virgins use!"

"Maybe she is one of those – maybe she ain't gone to bed with him," said Ivy. "Maybe J just has her for show, or can't get it up, or something."

"We've gone to bed together lots of times!" retorted Harley. "And it's always been amazing!"

"Going to bed don't mean sleeping in bed, kid," chuckled Selina.

"I know what it means," growled Harley.

"It's just funny, because J's never brought anyone else to Arkham," said Ivy, shrugging. "Never seemed to really be interested in women. Or men, or anything, really, except for his crimes."

"That's because it's true love," retorted Harley. "And Jack knows that, same as me."

"He does seem to be kinda crazy for her," admitted Selina. "Just look at that necklace."

"So they're both crazy and stupid," said Ivy, shrugging. "Suited, I guess."

"Or it's true love, like I told ya," snapped Harley.

"Ok, you keep believing in that, kid," retorted Selina. "But life ain't a fairy tale, and true love doesn't work out, if it even exists. Your romance may be perfect, but life isn't, so it's always gonna find some way to screw it over."

"Here you go, Harley," said Leland, returning with blankets and a pillow. "I hope those are warm enough – it can get chilly in here. Let me know if you need anything else."

"Er…thanks, but…are you meant to be nice to us like this?" asked Harley, slowly.

Leland shrugged. "I figure I can treat everyone in here like crap and they'll resent me and the justice system…or I can try to be nice to people and they might return the favor and stay outta jail."

"Has it worked?" asked Harley.

"Clearly not, since we're full," sighed Leland. "But it's too late to change now. Anyway, the people in charge seem to approve, since I've got a couple pay rises since I started working here. So I'm not complaining," she said, heading off.

Harley looked at Ivy. "Is that Harvey's doing?" she asked.

"I put in a good word for her with him," said Ivy, nodding. "When you're good to Ivy, Ivy's good to you. Remember that, Harley."

"Yeah, I will," said Harley, piling the blankets on the floor into a makeshift bed. "You think we'll be outta here tomorrow?"

"Or the next day," said Ivy, shrugging. "Soon."

"Good. I miss Jack," said Harley, curling up. "Don't think I'll sleep without him here."

"God, you are so pathetic," sighed Selina, curling up in her own bunk and rolling her eyes.

"Ignore her, Harley," said Ivy, putting out her cigarette. "She's just bitter because she's alone. Life may not be perfect, but you can still find a lotta happiness in it. Look at me and Harvey," she said, yawning and shutting her eyes. "I can't see fate coming along and screwing us over. It's just not gonna happen."


	9. Chapter 9

"How's it coming, Captain Gordon?" asked Bruce Wayne, arriving at the police station the next day.

"Not good," sighed Gordon. "We're getting nowhere. No one will give up any information on Ivy's boyfriend. No one will even admit she has one. One of the guys we arrested, Nygma, said it was him, but he's clearly not the guy we're looking for."

"Have you questioned them all thoroughly?" asked Bruce.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Mr. Wayne," said Gordon, puzzled.

"I mean used every method at your disposal," said Bruce, quietly.

Gordon looked at him. "You mean…beat 'em? We're really not supposed to do that, Mr. Wayne…"

"Sometimes to help the law, you've got to break the law," interrupted Bruce. "And if they won't give up this guy voluntarily, what else do you suggest we do? Let them go back out there to rob and kill more innocent people? I'd rather knock a few criminals around than let them get away with hurting others."

"Look, Mr. Wayne, my job's already on the line because of my actions," murmured Gordon. "Going against the corruption and the bribery – people are looking to get rid of me. I can't give them a reason to fire me like that…"

"Then let me do it," said Bruce. "And if they ask, deny all knowledge. That's what they do."

"You really want to sink to their level?" asked Gordon, gently.

Bruce shrugged. "I call it evening the odds. We're outnumbered in this battle, Jim – the only way we can win it is by fighting a little dirty. But I will never sink to their level," he muttered, heading into the interrogation room. "I will never take a life."

Seated at the table was the man Bruce loathed most in all the world, Jack Napier, looking his usual smug, superior self as he propped his legs up on the table, casually smoking a cigarette. The man was a murderer, with no sense of guilt, and no remorse for his crimes. He deserved worse than a beating, thought Bruce as he glared at him, and as Jack smiled broadly back.

"Morning, Brucie!" he said, cheerfully. "Lovely day, isn't it?"

"You're very chipper for a man who spent a night in the cells," muttered Bruce.

Jack shrugged. "Well, what does a guy like me have to be unhappy about?"

"You're under arrest," pointed out Bruce.

"I have faith that this little misunderstanding will be cleared up in no time at all," said Jack, grinning and puffing on his cigarette. "Anyway, it's just a little blip in my happiness, when I got so many other things to be grateful for. I got my health, I got an incredible doll, I got a home, and a job, and I earn a decent living…"

"Doing what, Mr. Napier?" asked Bruce.

"I already told the cops," replied Jack with a smile. "Insurance. I sell insurance."

"You wouldn't have any knowledge about a certain bank robbery at Gotham National a few nights ago, would you?" asked Bruce, casually.

Jack chuckled. "Why would an insurance salesman know anything about that?"

"Because you're a liar," growled Bruce, leaning forward. "I know you were there – I saw you there."

Jack grinned. "Oh. You're the one who survived!" he chuckled, leaning back and puffing on his cigarette. "I knew you looked familiar!"

"So you admit it?" demanded Bruce.

"Don't think I admitted anything, sport!" chuckled Jack. "The story was in the paper – they mentioned there was a survivor, and printed your picture. I was just trying to place where I'd seen you before."

"You can't just admit it, can you, you filthy piece of criminal scum?" demanded Bruce. "You can't tell the truth, for once in your life!"

Jack tapped out his cigarette into the ashtray. "Well, what is the truth, really, Brucie?" he laughed. "When there are so many versions of the truth out there. Might as well pick the version you like best. People wear a lotta different masks, and no one is ever who you think they are, so why be obsessed with just one truth? Life is so much simpler when you just go with the flow and play whatever role you want, whichever role strikes your fancy at the time. Like a game, or a joke. You just gotta not take it all so seriously all the time."

"I shouldn't take the murder of innocents seriously?" demanded Bruce. "Real pain and human suffering I should just treat like some stupid game or joke, is that what you're saying?"

"That's what I'm saying," agreed Jack with a chuckle. "I mean, think about it. You know we're all criminals – you've got proof, and the evidence of your own eyes, but you can't touch us. You gotta admit, Brucie – that is pretty funny!"

He laughed, and Bruce seized him around the collar, slamming his fist into his jaw. "Tell me who's protecting you!" he roared. "Tell me his name!"

"Aw, he's angry!" laughed Jack, raising his head and smiling at him through bloodied teeth. "And he's so scary when he's angry! Really, I'm shaking in fear, Brucie!" he giggled. "You think I can't take a beating?"

"Not like mine," growled Bruce, cracking his fist across his face and hearing Jack's nose break.

"Yeah, you're good for never having fought a day in your life, rich boy!" chuckled Jack, still grinning through the blood pouring from his nose. "But I think you can do better with practice! C'mon, is that all you got? Try harder! Gimme your best shot!"

He kept laughing, and Bruce grew furious, grabbing him by the hair and slamming his face into the table repeatedly. "Tell me!" he roared. "Tell me his name!"

"What the hell is going on in here?!" demanded Harvey Dent, entering the room suddenly with Commissioner Loeb and Captain Gordon. "Why is a civilian even in this room, and why is he being allowed to manhandle the prisoner?!"

"Gordon, answer him!" snapped Loeb.

"No idea, sir," muttered Gordon. "One of the men on duty must have not been paying attention…"

"Get me his name and fire him!" snapped Loeb. "Mr. Napier, you have my sincerest apologies on behalf of the GCPD for this horrible breach of conduct – is there anything we can do to make it up to you?"

Jack chuckled, wiping away the blood. "Maybe another smoke."

"Allow me," said Dent, handing Jack a cigarette from his case and lighting it for him.

"Gordon, I want an explanation!" demanded Loeb. "Not just for this, but for the raid on the Arkham Club!"

"We were tipped off that the club was illegally selling alcohol, sir…" began Gordon.

"But you didn't find any alcohol on the premises, did you, Gordon?" demanded Loeb.

Gordon shared a look with Bruce. "Did you?" repeated Loeb, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"No…sir," stammered Gordon.

"No. So you've kept all its patrons in jail overnight in this huge waste of taxpayer money!" shouted Loeb.

"The voters of this city will not be pleased, Commissioner," said Dent. "If the police arrest and detain everyone without probable cause, the public will turn on them, and there will be chaos in Gotham. You don't want chaos, do you?" he asked, lighting up his own cigarette.

"No, Mr. Dent, I don't," agreed Loeb. "I can only apologize to you, and to Mr. Napier, and to everyone who was wrongly arrested last night. Rest assured Captain Gordon will face strong disciplinary action for acting without my permission and against my orders. And of course you, Mr. Napier, and all your fellow patrons will be released at once, with our sincerest apologies."

"Well, no harm done!" chuckled Jack, wiping more blood from his face. "Won't be pressing charges against the cops or anything – I ain't that kinda guy. Forgive and forget, that's me. If only some of us in this room were so enlightened!" he sighed, smiling at Bruce.

Dent helped Jack to his feet while Bruce glared at him, and then his gaze shifted to Dent. And he remembered suddenly that Ivy had mentioned the name Harvey while he was on the phone with Selina. Harvey Dent. If he was Ivy's boyfriend who was protecting the criminals…then Gotham was rotten to the core, all the way to City Hall. Could the corruption in Gotham really be that high up? He didn't want to believe it, but now that the suspicion was planted, it wasn't going away…

"Commissioner Loeb, I have eyewitness evidence that Mr. Napier was involved in the robbery at Gotham National," Bruce snapped.

"Oh yes? Who is your witness?" asked Loeb, looking at him skeptically.

"Me," retorted Bruce. "I'd be willing to testify in court…"

"Mr. Wayne, we've already seen that you bear Mr. Napier a grudge," interrupted Dent. "Your testimony would be worse than useless, completely biased as it is. And who would believe the word of a man who goes around beating up innocent men for no reason?"

"He's not innocent!" hissed Bruce. "He's a murderer, and a thief…"

"You have no proof of that," interrupted Dent. "Our justice system, in case you were unaware, Mr. Wayne, is based on the premise of innocent until proven guilty. And the District Attorney's office, and the police department, has no proof of Mr. Napier's involvement in any criminal activity. Therefore he is a free man, and free to go. You may not like it, but that's the law."

"That's the law!" repeated Jack, with a laugh. "And the law is paramount in this city, ain't it?"

He passed Bruce and blew out a cloud of smoke into his face. "Welcome to Gotham, Brucie boy!" he murmured, grinning.

Bruce glared after them, shaking in rage, and then turned and stormed from the police station without another word. It was all clear to him now. If he wanted justice, he couldn't depend on the police. He would have to take the law into his own hands.


	10. Chapter 10

"Well, I knew it wouldn't be long – you three are free to go," said Leland the next morning, unlocking the door to the cell that Harley, Ivy, and Selina shared.

"Aw, can't it wait a few more hours, Leland?" muttered Selina, rolling over. "I wanna sleep in."

"You could bring us breakfast at least," said Ivy, not even opening her eyes. "I think we're owed that much for the inconvenience of sleeping here."

"We're free to go _now_?" asked Harley, standing up instantly.

"Yes, whenever you like," sighed Leland. "I'll just leave the cell door unlocked."

Harley didn't wait for the others – she raced out of the room, running down the cell block and shoving open the door to the jail, basking in the morning sunshine. She smiled, closing her eyes, breathing in deeply, and relishing her freedom. And then she opened her eyes and smiled again.

A familiar figure was standing in front of the jail, leaning against his stolen car and smoking a cigarette. "Jack!" shrieked Harley, running towards him. He chuckled, holding open his arms, and Harley leapt into them, kissing him passionately.

"Miss me, kiddo?" he murmured.

"Uh huh," she purred, hugging him. And then her smile fell when she caught a glimpse of his face, littered with cuts and bruises. "Jack, what happened?" she asked.

"Oh, that," he said, shrugging. "A little police brutality by some rookie do-gooder who didn't know what's what and how things work in this town. Nothing to worry about."

"It looks awful!" cried Harley. "Who was he? I gotta make him pay for wounding you, just like I promised," she murmured, kissing his cheek. "Nobody hurts my puddin' and lives."

"Nah, don't worry about it, kid," he chuckled. "You don't wanna mess with this guy. It's funnier just to let him stew in his own juices, as he realizes how truly powerless he is. How for once, all his millions of dollars can't buy away all his problems. Must be a new experience for him," he laughed.

"He's not the only one who had a new experience," agreed Harley. "I'd never been arrested before, puddin'. Or spent the night in jail…"

"Aw, it wasn't so bad, was it, baby?" he asked, lifting her off her feet and placing her into the passenger seat of the car.

"Nah uh," she said. "The warden lady's nice."

"I hear that," said Jack, starting the car.

"Although I did miss you," continued Harley. "And there wasn't a lotta space so me and Ivy and Selina all had to share a cell. And the girls made me sleep on the floor."

"Did they?" said Jack, backing out into the streets of Gotham. "Well, the next time I see 'em, I'll have a little word. Nobody makes my doll sleep on the floor."

"They said…you'd never brought anybody else to Arkham before," said Harley.

"Nope," he agreed. "Well, you've seen the risk in bringing strangers!" he chuckled. "That can lead to short-term prison sentences!"

"But you brought me," said Harley. "You trusted me."

He shrugged. "Well, yeah. Like I said, kid, sometimes it just hits you. I knew from the first moment I looked in your eyes that we shared the same kinda passion. Except yours was being choked and stifled in that terrible job. You woulda lost your spark of madness if you'd stayed there any longer. Couldn't have let that happen, baby. Not when it's so rare."

"The girls…also said it's crazy for me to…love you the way I do," she murmured. "Y'know, to think that our love's perfect, and that you're perfect…"

"Of course it's crazy," he replied, nodding. "That's how you know it's worthwhile. Every great thing that's happened in my life has been because of something crazy, toots. Quitting my job to become a criminal – that was crazy. Going into bootlegging and bank robbery – crazy. Meeting a hot little waitress at a diner and taking her home that night – crazy. But all of those things have brought me a lotta happiness. So don't you worry if something seems crazy. That's how you know it's real."

Harley beamed, kissing him. "Let's go home and get a shower," she said. "I need one after being in prison, and you need to wash the blood off your face."

"Mmm, I got a better idea, baby," he murmured, grinning. "How about a bath instead?"

"Puddin', this is so naughty!" giggled Harley, as she sat waiting naked in the bathtub later while Jack poured bottle after bottle of champagne into it. "That's gotta be like ten thousand dollars worth of hooch, and we're bathing in it!"

"Yeah, but it's something I've always wanted to do," he chuckled, stripping off his clothes and joining her in the bath. "Really bubbly though, ain't it? It's like being at one of those fancy saunas with the hot tubs! Except it ain't hot, of course."

"I can't believe we're doing this!" giggled Harley. "It's crazy!"

"And what have I told you about crazy?" he murmured, pulling her into his arms.

Their kiss was interrupted by the ringing of a telephone. "I'll get it," said Jack, drawing away reluctantly. "You stay here just like that," he said, reaching for a towel. "My boozy bathing beauty!"

"Can't I get it?" asked Harley. "I've never answered a telephone before."

"It ain't that glamorous, kid," he chuckled. "But sure, knock yourself out!"

Harley grabbed a towel and then skipped into the other room. "Just pick up this receiver bit here and say hello into this part," instructed Jack.

Harley giggled, picking up the receiver. "Hello?" she said.

"Oh…hello, Miss Quinzel?" said a familiar voice.

"Yep, that's me!" said Harley.

"It's Jervis Tetch – could I possibly speak to Mr. Napier, my dear?"

"Wait, wait, wait," said Crane's voice from the other end, grabbing the phone from Tetch. "My dear Miss Quinzel, are you all right? I heard there was a raid on the club last night, and while I'm very grateful I left when I did, I was dreadfully worried about you."

"You are such a sweetheart, Professor Crane, but I'm fine," said Harley. "Feel a little dirty from being in jail, but…puddin' and me are washing that all off now!" she giggled.

"Mmm, my doll sure likes being dirty though," murmured Jack, kissing her.

"Puddin'…stop it! Not while I'm on the telephone!" giggled Harley. "Puddin', no! You'll have to excuse me, Professor Crane, but Jack's having a hard time keeping his hands to himself! I'm gonna give the telephone to him so he'll have something to occupy his hands with."

"Yeah, get back in the booze bath and wait for Daddy, baby!" chuckled Jack, taking the receiver from her and giving her a playful spank as she skipped off. "Hi, Johnny!" he said, cheerfully.

"I don't want to talk to you – Jervis does," snapped Crane, handing the receiver back to Tetch.

"Mr. Napier, you are cordially invited to the Mad Hatter's Tea Party," said Tetch. "It's time for tea."

"Oooh, great news!" said Jack, reaching for a pen. "What time you want me to collect it?"

"Ten o'clock at the factory. The usual arrangements have been made for the transportation of the tea. And as usual, our collective cut will be seventy percent."

"Gotcha, Hatty, say no more," said Jack. "Looking forward to the party!" he chuckled.

"What did Jervis want?" asked Harley as Jack returned to the bathroom.

"To tell me it's time for tea," said Jack, climbing back into the bath.

"What does that mean?" asked Harley, puzzled

"It means the moonshine is ready," chuckled Jack. "Little code we got going on. I gotta pick it up at ten tonight."

"Can I come?" asked Harley.

"Dunno why you'd want to – it's real boring," said Jack. "We load it all onto the truck they got, then I take the truck around town dropping off the booze and collecting the money."

"So you'll be out all night?" asked Harley, frowning.

"Aw, cheer up, baby!" he chuckled, kissing her nose. "If I wanna keep giving my doll champagne baths, I gotta earn a living. These don't come cheap, y'know! But we'll make up for lost time when I get back. And right now," he added, pressing her down in the bath. "Gotta get you nice and dirty so it'll be worth you getting a champagne bath, after all. Wouldn't wanna waste all that valuable alcohol!"

Harley giggled, pulling him down on top of her. Life simply couldn't get any better than this.

…

Oswald Cobblepot had been working all afternoon to undo the damage to the Arkham Club caused by the raid so that it would be up and running that evening. The sun had just set and he was prepared to tell Bane to let the customers in, looking around proudly at his handiwork and pleased that he wouldn't be losing another night of business. He had just picked up the telephone behind the bar to ask Ivy to come in to perform (he was understandably angry at Selina for the Bruce Wayne incident, and for being late), when he was suddenly knocked to the ground. Winded, he tried to struggle to his feet, but he was suddenly lifted off them, and pulled up to look into the angry eyes of a man in what appeared to be a bat costume.

"The alcohol you sell here – where does it come from?" growled the man in the bat costume.

"I don't know…what you're talking about!" gasped Cobblepot. "We don't sell alcohol…that's illegal..."

In response, the man in the bat costume grabbed a bottle off the bar, smashing it open and holding the broken shards against Cobblepot's face. "Smells like alcohol to me!" the man hissed. "Who supplies it? Tell me!"

"Jack…Jack Napier supplies it," gasped Cobblepot, feeling the shards of the broken bottle nicking his skin and terrified as to what the lunatic in the bat costume might do. "He gets it from Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch – they brew it!"

"Where do they brew it?" demanded the man in the bat costume, pressing the bottle in slightly further.

Cobblepot hissed in pain. "They…they own a factory just outside of town."

"The name!" demanded the man in the bat costume.

"Ace!" squawked Cobblepot. "Ace Chemicals!"

He was dumped to the ground suddenly, and when he regained his feet, the man in the bat costume was gone.

"Bane!" roared Cobblepot, storming out of the bar area and over to the door.

" _Si, Señor_ Cobblepot?" asked Bane.

"Don't you _Señor_ Cobblepot me!" roared Cobblepot. "Why did you let that maniac in the bat costume in?!"

Bane looked at him in puzzlement. "I do not understand…"

"He was just here!" shouted Cobblepot. "He threatened me! Why would you let a lunatic like that in?!"

"I have not let anyone in the club yet, _Señor_ Cobblepot," replied Bane.

"Well, if you didn't let him in, how did he get in?" demanded Cobblepot.

"I do not know, _Señor_ ," replied Bane. "I saw no one."

"Well, I didn't imagine him!" shouted Cobblepot.

"Of course not, _Señor_ ," said Bane, nodding. "But you have had a long day setting up the club again – perhaps you should take the night off this evening and get some rest. You look unwell."

"I look unwell because a crazy man in a bat costume just broke in here somehow and threatened me with a broken bottle!" shouted Cobblepot. "See that he doesn't get in here again, or you're fired!"

Cobblepot stormed off, massaging his neck. "What kind of idiot would decide to dress up in a bat costume, I ask you?" he muttered. "Just asking for trouble. I hope he finds it at Ace."


	11. Chapter 11

"You're late for a very important date, Mr. Napier," said Tetch, glancing at his watch as Jack sauntered into the Ace Chemicals factory, smoking a cigarette.

"Yeah, sorry, my doll wouldn't let me leave," chuckled Jack. "She kept wanting more. That champagne bath really hit the spot, and then of course we had to get another bath to wash the alcohol off."

"I would prefer it if you didn't waste our hard work by bathing in it!" snapped Crane.

"It wasn't a waste, Johnny," said Jack. "Most erotic experience of my life. You and Mommy should try it sometime!" he chuckled.

"Look, for the last time, we're not a couple!" shouted Crane.

"Goodness, no," said Tetch. "What makes you think that?"

Jack shrugged. "You spend all your time together, and I've never seen either of you with a woman."

"I _am_ seeing a woman," retorted Tetch.

"Quite literally," replied Crane. "Since seeing her is all he's doing. From afar. Watching her classroom day after day."

"She's a kid?" asked Jack. "That's kinda creepy…"

"She's a teacher!" snapped Tetch. "A Miss Alice Pleasance! Jonathan introduced me to her!"

"And her fiance," agreed Crane.

"I told you at the time, the course of true love never did run smooth!" snapped Tetch.

"You know she thinks those presents you send her are from her fiance, don't you?" asked Crane. "The flowers and chocolates and jewelry…"

"But they are all on a theme of Alice in Wonderland!" exclaimed Tetch. "And I told her repeatedly when we spoke that it was my favorite book…"

"Gee, imagine somebody not listening to you when you talk!" chuckled Jack, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Let's get this crap loaded, boys."

"What have I told you about smoking around the tea?" demanded Tetch as they headed towards the huge vats full of alcohol. "It's highly flammable stuff, you know."

"I like to live dangerously, Tetchy!" laughed Jack. "What's life without that risky thrill, after all?"

"It's a risk I don't care to take," snapped Tetch. "If this factory goes up in flames, it'll ignite very quickly. My life is not worth your nonsensical thrills," he said, grabbing the cigarette from Jack and stamping it out on the ground.

"Yeah, where would Miss Pleasance get another unwanted admirer?" chuckled Jack as they headed over to an assembly line where the vats were being emptied into barrels. A fair number of them had already piled up.

"Let's get to it, boys – it's gonna be a long night," said Jack, removing his jacket and lifting a barrel onto the waiting truck.

Crane and Tetch joined him in transporting the barrels, and watching them from above, up in the rafters of the factory, was a man in a bat costume.

Bruce Wayne glared down at the operation – he estimated there must be about half a million dollars worth of illegal moonshine being pumped out of the factory. But it wouldn't reach the streets of Gotham, he vowed.

He dropped down suddenly, landing on a barrel and smashing his fist through it. "You're all three under arrest for the illegal production and distribution of alcohol," he growled.

They all looked shocked to see him, but Jack recovered himself first, laughing heartily with that annoying, hysterical laugh of his. "So the cops are employing lunatics to catch bad guys now? Are they really that desperate?"

"This is your only warning," snapped Bruce. "Hands up, and get on your knees."

Jack lit up another cigarette. "Or what?" he asked, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"Or I'll make you," growled Bruce.

"Big words from a maniac in a bat costume," chuckled Jack. "Nobody tells me what to do in my town, pal."

"This isn't your town!" snapped Bruce.

"Really?" laughed Jack. "I can do anything I want in it, and no one can stop me. Especially not some mental case in a Halloween costume. I own this town – I rule this town. I'm the king of Gotham."

His words infuriated Bruce, and since he had already warned him, he waited no longer to strike Jack a harsh blow across the face, knocking the cigarette from his lips. Jack had his gun out in an instant, firing at Bruce's head. He ducked, leaping back up into the shadows.

"A lunatic and a coward!" laughed Jack. "What a winning combination! The ladies must really go for you, huh?" he chuckled, firing up into the rafters.

"What are we going to do?" asked Crane, nervously.

"Don't you worry, boys – he's mine," said Jack, climbing the stairs up to the platforms above the vats. "We've got a bat infestation, and I'll exterminate it, never fear!"

He looked up at the shadows, whistling. "Here, Batsy, Batsy, Batsy! Good boy! C'mon out! Olly olly oxen free!"

"Do you smell burning?" whispered Tetch, suddenly.

Crane did, and whirled around to see that Jack's cigarette had caught a trail of alcohol and ignited, heading straight for the barrels and the truck.

"No, no, no!" he gasped, racing after the spark and trying to beat it out with his jacket.

"You're just fanning the flame!" cried Tetch, trying to suffocate the fire by throwing his hat down onto the spark and stamping on it.

Neither of these actions did any good – the flame continued on its inexorable journey toward the barrels of alcohol on the truck. Crane grabbed Tetch's arm. "Take cover!" he shouted, racing as far away as possible from the truck. "J!" he shouted up at the rafters. "Get down! It's gonna blow!"

His warning came too late. A second later, the fire caught the barrels of alcohol, and they exploded in a huge cloud of flame and debris. The truck's engine followed shortly after, and Jack was temporarily blinded by the smoke, coughing as the remains of the explosion rained down on him.

The smoke didn't clear – the whole factory had gone up in flames almost in an instant. The alcohol in the vats below had been ignited, and the spare canisters of random chemicals that had been left around the factory began to pour into them as their containers exploded from the heat and the pressure, dying the concoction a sickening green color.

Jack clung to the railing, trying to feel his way back to the stairs. He kept coughing on the choking smoke as explosions kept going off around him, and bits of the factory began to collapse.

Then someone suddenly seized him around the neck from behind. "You're going to face justice for your crimes, Napier!" hissed Bruce.

Jack choked out a laugh. "No…I ain't!" he gasped, reaching for his gun and whirling around. He fired shots at the smoke in front of him, backing away…

And that was when the railing gave way. Jack plummeted down toward the vat just as Bruce shot out a hand to catch him. But he was too late.

"J!" shouted Crane, who could just make out the shape of the falling figure through the smoke.

And then Jack hit the green concoction and disappeared. "Oh my God!" cried Tetch, racing toward the vat where he had landed. Nothing moved beneath the surface of the chemicals, and the factory was suddenly rocked by another explosion.

"We have to get out of here, Jervis – this place is going to collapse!" shouted Crane.

"But Mr. Napier might still be alive!" exclaimed Tetch.

"After that fall into whatever extremely toxic chemicals are in there?" demanded Crane. "I very highly doubt it! But there's no time to search – the ceiling is coming down!"

Tetch reluctantly raced after Crane, and they managed to get out of the factory just in time. Almost the instant they were across the threshold, the building collapsed in on itself in a pile of flame and rubble.

Crane and Tetch stood in front of the ruins, staring at the wreckage and breathing heavily. "Oh God," gasped Tetch. "Oh God. However are we going to tell Miss Quinzel?"


	12. Chapter 12

Harley was listening to the radio as she made breakfast, whistling along and dancing to the upbeat jazz tune as she flipped the pancakes. She knew Jack would be hungry when he got back this morning, and she wanted breakfast on the table for her puddin' when he returned. Although she wasn't the best cook, and she sighed as another of the pancakes landed on the floor instead of in the pan and splattered open, since she hadn't managed to cook the batter through.

"Honestly, Harley, this isn't that hard!" she muttered, bending down to clean up the mess. "But they're made with love, so I guess that's what's important."

Her next attempt was more successful, and she placed some sliced fruit onto the pancake to make it into a face, using two blueberries for eyes and a banana for its nice, big smile.

A knock sounded on the door and Harley frowned. "Did you forget your keys, pudd…" she began, opening it, but was surprised to see Crane and Tetch standing in the doorway.

"Oh…Professor Crane, Mr. Tetch, good morning," she said, adjusting her bathrobe to make sure she looked presentable. "Is Jack with you? How did the operation go last night?"

She saw their solemn, anxious faces, and her own face fell as cold dread began to creep over her heart. "What?" she asked, softly. "What is it? Where's Jack?"

"My dear Miss Quinzel, it breaks my heart to have to tell you this," murmured Tetch.

"Tell me…what?" stammered Harley, the dread tightening its grip on her heart.

"Mr. Napier, he…he…there was a fire at the factory and he…he fell…" stammered Tetch.

"He's gone, Miss Quinzel," said Crane, gently. "Mr. Napier is gone."

Harley stared at him, feeling her heart stop. She couldn't believe what she just heard, she couldn't accept it…she shook her head violently. "No," she gasped, her voice rising in panic. "No, no, no, that…that can't be true! He…he can't be gone! He's gotta be ok! Tell me he's ok!"

"Miss Quinzel…" began Tetch.

"Tell me he's ok!" she screamed, shutting her eyes as if that could make it go away, as if this was a bad dream and she would wake up any second, safe and warm in Jack's arms. "He can't be gone! He can't! He can't!"

She broke down sobbing and Crane rushed to embrace her, soothing her gently. At least, he did his best to soothe her, but nothing could calm her as she sobbed her heart out.

She didn't remember much after that – at some point Crane and Tetch left her. They were reluctant to do so, but she insisted. She needed to be alone.

Time passed after that, time dragged on as she sat, alone in her loneliness in Jack's apartment, everything about her surroundings a painful reminder of who and what she had lost – the love of her life.

The pain became too great at last, and she found herself grabbing what little things she had, shoving them into a bag, and then leaving the apartment. She hailed a cab which took her back to her own dingy little apartment in the slums of Gotham City. Those surroundings suited her heart – it was once more caged and miserable and broken, all alone forever.

Days passed. Weeks might have gone by, but Harley had no desire to live. She wanted to just curl up and die to be with Jack again, but something inside her, some fighting spirit, wouldn't let her give up. Her brain somehow managed to focus on mundane matters, like how she would live without Jack, not just emotionally, but practically. She needed to earn money somehow. And since she doubted she'd be welcome back in her old job at the diner, she needed a new one.

And that was how she found herself outside the Arkham Club one cold, miserable, rainy day. She knocked on the door, and the slit was opened.

"It's Harleen Quinzel," she murmured. "Jack's…doll. I…I dunno what the password is anymore, but I need to see Mr. Cobblepot."

The door opened. " _Lo siento_ for your loss, Miss Quinzel," said Bane, gently. "Please come in."

"Thank you," murmured Harley, making her way into the dark club. Cobblepot was studying some receipts with a furrowed brow, but he looked up as Harley entered.

"My dear Miss Quinzel," he said, standing up and hurrying over to her. "Please accept my deepest condolences for your terrible loss."

"Thank you," repeated Harley.

"That accident was a horrible tragedy for everyone – you've no idea what it's cost my business," said Cobblepot. "But of course nothing compares to your personal tragedy. They must find that madman and lock him up somehow."

"Madman?" repeated Harley. "Who?"

Cobblepot looked puzzled. "Didn't they tell you? The Batman."

"Who's the Batman?" asked Harley. "Professor Crane and Mr. Tetch, they told me…it was an accident. Jack fell…"

"Oh…yes, he did," agreed Cobblepot. "But the fire was started by the Batman. He's some lunatic in a bat costume – he tried to stop the operation. Jack went after him and…that's when he fell."

"Who is he?" demanded Harley. "Who is this Batman? I'm gonna kill him for what he did to my puddin'!"

"Nobody knows, Miss Quinzel," replied Cobblepot. "He hasn't appeared again since the accident. But you didn't come to see me to talk about the Batman, did you?"

"No, I…I didn't," said Harley, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. She would focus on finding and avenging herself against this Batman later. "I wanted to ask you if you could give me a job, Mr. Cobblepot. You said I could audition, and…I just don't know where else to go, or what else to do."

"My dear, are you really up to performing?" asked Cobblepot, gently. "Singing in front of a crowd? You must be going through hell…"

"And I need to distract myself somehow," agreed Harley. "Please, Mr. Cobblepot. Let me audition."

He nodded slowly. "Whenever you're ready, Miss Quinzel," he said, gesturing to the stage.

Harley didn't remember what she sang – some slow, depressing tune to match her mood. But she didn't feel nervous – she didn't feel anything. And that seemed to work, because the instant she had finished her song, Cobblepot leapt to his feet, applauding.

"When can you start, my dear?" he asked.

"Whenever you want," she replied.

"I'll draw up a contract now – you can have Selina's slots," he continued. "I've been looking to replace her since her little Bruce Wayne incident. You'll need a stage name, though – all the ladies have them."

"I…I dunno what mine could be," said Harley.

Cobblepot puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette. "Harleen Quinzel," he repeated. "Harley Quinzel. Harley Quin…"

He paused. "Harley Quinn," he repeated. "Like the clown character Harlequin. Got rather a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Maybe. I don't feel much like smiling," murmured Harley.

"It can be an ironic name, since you'll probably be singing sad songs," replied Cobblepot. "Harley Quinn, the sad jester, the grim fool, the clown who lost her smile."

"That's because I lost my puddin', Mr. Cobblepot," whispered Harley, tears in her eyes. "He was my smile. He was my everything."

She wiped her eyes. "Excuse me, I'm…gonna go home before I break down again."

"Can you be here for seven tomorrow evening?" asked Cobblepot. "I'll schedule you in for then."

Harley nodded. "I'll be there, Mr. Cobblepot," she murmured, heading for the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Harley enjoyed a great success during her debut at the Arkham Club. Something about her frank, honest performance of the blues, from a woman who truly had lost everything, was hugely appealing to the patrons of the club, and as the days passed, she became more popular than Ivy. But neither her popularity nor her singing made her happy, and there were many times she'd finish a song with the tears trailing down her cheeks, thinking of Jack.

Sometimes she could almost swear she saw him in the audience, but these all proved to be illusions. A sharply dressed man would sit in the shadows smoking a cigarette, and Harley's heart would leap in hope, but then he would stand up and it would be a stranger. Once she thought she heard his laugh, but it came from someone else. And once she thought she saw his smile, but the moment she blinked, it was gone.

Harley tried to resign herself to the fact that she was alone, but her heart kept hoping that this was all a dream, and that she would wake up with Jack in his apartment, not alone and hurting in her own miserable room. But she never did.

In her spare time, she tried to find out anything she could about this Batman, but he hadn't reappeared, and nobody seemed to know anything about him. It was as if he had been a demon who had appeared just to destroy her happiness, and had now returned to hell since his mission was accomplished.

Weeks passed, and Harley walked to work shivering from the cold chill of Gotham in early autumn. She heard the cries of newsboys calling out the headlines of the late edition: "Extra, extra, Clown Killer strikes again, massacre of innocents, read all about it!"

Harley's frown, which never left her face these days, deepened. That was the third time she had heard about this insane killer in a clown costume roaming the streets of Gotham. She supposed she should be worried about her safety, walking alone in the dark like this, but she couldn't say she particularly cared about her life anymore. If this Clown Killer murdered her, at least she would be with Jack again.

She arrived at the Arkham Club and headed into her dressing room that she shared with Ivy, who was seated reading the paper and smoking. Ivy was resentful of Harley's popularity, but tried to be civil considering the circumstances – plus Ivy still had Harvey, which made her the ultimately more successful woman in her personal life, if not her career.

"You heard about this clown freak, Harley?" asked Ivy, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "You might wanna consider changing your stage name if this keeps up, just to avoid association."

"Yeah," murmured Harley. "Just when the whole Harley Quinn thing was really starting to grow on me. Of course that's life – just when something seems great, something else comes along to ruin it," she sighed, taking off her coat.

"Aw, c'mon, cheer up," said Ivy, encouragingly. "Harvey's throwing a party at City Hall this weekend, and he's invited everyone from the club. We'll get you all dressed up, you can schmooze with some senators, and you'll find a nice, new guy to help you get over Jack. Trust me, nothing fixes a broken heart like sinking your claws into somebody else's."

"I know you mean well, Ivy," murmured Harley. "But I'm not ready to move on. I don't think I ever will be. He was the love of my life. He was my whole world, and now he's gone. I won't ever love again. Not like that, anyway."

Ivy was silent, puffing on a cigarette. "Look, kid, I know it's tough," she murmured. "I had a perfect love too once, y'know. Just like you – I was crazy for him. Thought it was true love, thought we'd live happily ever after, thought there'd never be anybody else…"

"What happened?" asked Harley.

Ivy blew out a cloud of smoke. "He left," she said. "Left me to fend for myself. So I did. I built myself back up, I grew strong, and then I found Harvey. I adore Harvey, I'm crazy about him, but…I don't love him like I loved Jason. I think that's a good thing, though. I think a love like that is always destined for pain. That's why I told you there's no such thing as true love. There is, but…it ain't worth the agony it's gonna end in. Much easier to find an imperfect love, a great guy with some defects, like Harvey, and forget these ideas of perfection. Because when you love madly like that…you end up going mad. And it's hard to live with insanity. Just something to think about," she said, heading for the door.

Harley changed slowly into her dress, a long, red and black gown with a diamond pattern on the skirt. She always wore the diamond necklace that Jack had given her, and she stared at her reflection in the dressing room mirror, pale and sad. A clown without a smile.

She sighed and headed for the door leading to the stage. It was showtime.

" _What'll I do now that he's gone?_

 _Somebody tell me how to go on,_

 _When every day it rains and rains,_

 _And I'm forcing smiles behind the pain._

 _What'll I do now that the light is dead,_

 _And his memory runs through my head?_

 _When the night is black and cold,_

 _And I've got no one left to hold?_

 _What'll I do now that my dream is ended?_

 _My heart is broken, can't be mended;_

 _But the tears run down my face all day,_

 _And he's not there to kiss them all away._

 _No, there's nothing to do now that he's gone_

 _Except to somehow carry on;_

 _To face the cold and dark and rain,_

 _And never to feel like smiling again_."

Harley finished the song with tears trailing down her cheeks, as usual. She opened her eyes to the applause of the patrons, staring blankly out into the crowd…

And she thought she saw Jack's smile again, on one of the patrons, a man in a shabby suit at the far corner table, a cigarette burning in his ashtray, applauding loudly and smiling Jack's smile. She shut her eyes, willing the vision to go away – it only got more painful each time it happened. But when she opened her eyes again, Jack's smile was still there.

She stared at the man – the rest of his face was hidden in shadow, but she very clearly recognized Jack's smile. There was no mistaking it. "Jack!" she gasped, preparing to race off the stage, but she was suddenly swamped by her crowd of admirers who pressed bouquets of flowers into her arms, fighting to get her attention. By the time Bane had cleared away the crowd, Harley looked to the far corner table to see that it was empty. Whoever the strange man was, he had gone.

On her way back to the dressing room, Harley tried to rationalize what she had seen to herself. It obviously hadn't been Jack – just another illusion conjured up by her deluded brain. Jack was dead. And she only wished her mind would stop tormenting her by conjuring up phantom images of him.

She opened the door to her dressing room to see a man in a suit and hat standing with his back to the door, examining the cards on the bouquets of flowers that had been delivered. "Eddie Nygma, yeah right, Johnny Crane, not a chance…" he muttered, in a very familiar voice. Harley's heart leapt in hope, but she knew it was just another delusion.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded. "Men aren't allowed back here without my permission."

The man chuckled, a strange, low, familiar sound. "And do you ever give permission, toots?" he murmured, turning around. His face was still hidden in the shadow cast by his hat, but he put a cigarette to his lips, holding it between white gloves.

"That's none of your business, is it?" she retorted. "Now go, before I call Mr. Bane."

He didn't move, he just stood there, smoking and staring at her. "Harley Quinn," he murmured. "Like the clown. Now that's funny, toots, it really is."

"What's funny about it?" asked Harley.

"Just the whole clown thing," he said. "A real coincidence. Funny how life turns out sometimes, ain't it?" he chuckled again.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she retorted. "Now stop babbling and please leave. I want to be alone."

He shook his head. "No, you don't," he murmured. "You _are_ alone, Harley. But you desperately don't want to be."

He approached her and Harley backed away against the door, her hand on the handle, preparing to run. "A clown without a smile," he murmured. "A sad clown. Now that ain't funny, is it, Harley? Doncha wanna smile again, baby? Doncha wanna laugh?"

Harley pushed down on the handle and tried to run, but he was too quick, grabbing her arms and slamming them above her head. He pressed her against the door, nuzzling her cheek.

"There's just so much to smile about, baby, so much to laugh about," he whispered. "Life is one big joke, after all. And this clown thing…that's the punchline, ain't it?"

Harley tried to scream, but he had his gloved hand over her mouth in an instant. "Shh, shh, shh, baby," he whispered. "I ain't gonna hurt you. Wouldn't do that to my fellow clown, would I?" he murmured, kissing down her neck. "My pretty little Harley Quinn. And she could be prettier still, if she only had her smile back."

It hit Harley suddenly. "You're…you're the Clown Killer," she gasped. "The one in the papers."

"Yeah, but Clown Killer's such a boring name," sighed the man. "Thought up a better one for myself which I need to give to those uncreative idiots of the press. The Joker."

"Are you going to kill me?" she whispered.

"Do you want me to?" he murmured, sliding a hand around her throat. "Would that bring your smile back?"

"Yes," she whispered. "The pain would be over. And I'd be with Jack again."

The man chuckled. "Do you wanna hear a joke, my little Harley Quinn?" he whispered, bringing his lips to her ear. "Jack's right here."

And he smiled suddenly. Harley gasped in shock. "Jack!" she exclaimed, and then he was kissing her, with Jack's kiss, his arms around her, safe and warm, like Jack's arms. She let out a sob of relief, melting into his embrace and kissing him passionately. It might be an illusion, or she might be losing her mind, but she didn't care anymore. She just never wanted it to end.

"Jack…I thought you were dead!" she gasped when he drew his mouth away at last.

He chuckled. "Jack is dead, baby," he murmured. "He died in that vat in Ace Chemicals."

"I…don't understand," she stammered.

"You will, my little Harley Quinn," he whispered, tracing her lips with his gloved finger. "You will."

He reached up and slowly removed his hat, revealing his face to her for the first time. "Oh…my God," gasped Harley, staring back at the clown face, bleached white with grinning red lips and thick locks of green hair. "Oh my God…Jack…what happened to you?"

"I died, baby," he whispered. "Jack died. And the Joker came back in his place."

"The Joker…Jack, you've been…you've been murdering those people…in the papers…"

"Real great joke on them, ain't it?" laughed Joker. "Death's the ultimate punchline, the final gag life plays on all of us. Except for me, of course!" he chuckled. "I died, and then I came back! Makes you want to laugh, doesn't it, Harley? Makes you wanna spread the smiles and laughter to everyone, doesn't it? Help them all get the joke!"

Harley was still too stunned by his miraculous return to process all of what he said – she shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Jack…" she began.

"Joker," he corrected. "That's the name I like my doll to call me."

"Joker," she repeated, slowly. "Why didn't you come see me sooner? I thought you were dead for weeks…"

"I came back to my place after the accident, but you weren't there," he said. "I thought you had…run off. Heard I was dead so you made a break for it, hooked up with someone else. And then I came back to the club and saw you singing, and all the guys admiring you, and I just thought…"

He trailed off, his smile falling. "What did you think?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I thought…you could do better than some clown-faced freak. So I stayed away. But I couldn't stop thinking about you, and the more I thought about you, and the whole Harley Quinn thing, the more I thought maybe it was some sort of crazy fate, you and me, destined to be together. So I came back. You do want us to be together, don't you, Harley?" he asked, gripping her shoulders. "You don't want all those other admirers, all those handsome young men out there, waiting for you, waiting to get their filthy hands on my doll…"

"Jack, you're hurting me…" began Harley.

"Joker!" he shouted, shaking her roughly. "My name is the Joker!"

Harley whimpered in pain and he calmed instantly, releasing her and gathering her gently into his arms, stroking her hair back. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I just…got a lot going on in my head. All the time. Lots of…violent imagery and fantasies and…and sometimes I make them come true. But I don't wanna take them out on you. You do deserve better than some murdering, clown-faced freak."

His grip tightened again. "But I ain't gonna let you go," he whispered. "You're my doll. You've always been my doll, and you always will be my doll. And if any other guy tries to get his hands on my doll, I'll cut their hands off!"

He was shaking with emotion and Harley stared up into his beautiful green eyes to see a whirlpool of rage and pain and jealousy and, above all, a maniacal joy. A joy that grew stronger as he looked down at her. "That's right, isn't it, baby?" he whispered, kissing her forehead. "That's what they deserve for messing with my doll. You'd enjoy that too, wouldn't you? I remember how alive and full of passion we both felt after that heist, after we killed. Wouldn't you give anything to feel like that again? Day after day of smiles and joy and laughter, the two of us together, the two criminal clowns, the Joker and Harley Quinn? Wouldn't that be perfect, baby?"

Harley studied him. Rationally she should run as far away as possible from this man, who was clearly unbalanced. But then Jack always had been a little crazy, and he had said that the best things in life were always crazy. Harley believed that was true. And here was Jack, standing in front of her, slightly different looking, but alive again. Was she going to be ungrateful for this miracle that had reunited her with the love of her life, that had granted her deepest wish, just because it seemed insane? Sanity was a small price to pay for getting her true love back, and she was more than willing to sacrifice it.

She kissed him, slowly and deeply. "Uh huh, puddin'," she whispered. "That would be perfect."

He chuckled. "Puddin'! I remember that! Funny name for a funny clown, my little Harley Quinn. My perfect little Harley Quinn," he whispered, reaching around to unzip the back of her dress.

Ivy headed back to the dressing room after her set was over. She tried the door to find it locked, and suddenly heard strange noises coming from inside, and Harley moaning in a way that could offer only one explanation.

Ivy was surprised to say the least, but shrugged, heading back down the hall toward the bar. "Glad she took my advice about moving on," she said to herself. "Good for her. I wonder who the lucky guy is."


	14. Chapter 14

Bruce Wayne sat in his study, head in his hands as he stared at the newspaper headline in front of him: _Clown Killer Strikes Again – 50 Smiling Corpses From Latest Attack._ He stared at the grisly photos of the smiling bodies, their eyes twisted in pain and their grins horribly mocking.

This was the last thing Gotham needed, he thought with a sigh, as he shoved the paper away. It was already a hive of corruption and lawlessness and organized crime, and it now had a psychotic mass murderer on the loose. And everything he did to fight back against it only made it worse.

He had left Ace Chemicals that night in an agony of guilt at the thought that he had taken a life. Of course he hadn't done it on purpose, and that had never been his intention when he had showed up at Ace, but he felt responsible all the same. He should have been able to save Jack, to catch him and prevent him from falling. Jack had been a horrible man, but Bruce hadn't had the right to take his life away from him. But Jack was dead because of his actions, and Bruce found the guilt almost unbearable. For weeks he had shut himself up in Wayne Manor, chastising himself for doing something so stupid and reckless – putting on a bat costume, what had he been thinking? Well, he had been thinking that it would conceal his identity, as well as strike terror into the hearts of criminals – a demonic superstition come to life. But obviously it hadn't worked with Jack.

He was gone now though – however it had happened, Gotham had been freed of a heartless criminal. And had apparently gained another even worse. And Bruce could no longer ignore it. He couldn't let that maniac roam out there in his city without doing something to stop it.

He stood up, heading for the front door. "Where are you going, sir?" asked Alfred.

"To see Captain Gordon," replied Bruce. "I need to learn everything I can about this Clown Killer. It's the only chance I have of stopping him."

"Forgive me, sir, but wouldn't it be better to let the police handle it?" asked Alfred.

"They haven't," retorted Bruce. "And they're already outnumbered and overworked, assuming they're on the case at all and haven't been paid off by Dent."

"You surely don't think the District Attorney could be working with this madman?" asked Alfred.

"He works with criminals – why would this one be any different?" asked Bruce.

"Well, sir, Mr. Dent's involvement in crime is based on a mutually profitable arrangement with the criminals," said Alfred. "There is some monetary benefit to him in kickbacks and bribery and turning a blind eye to bootlegging. But this Clown Killer's crimes are senseless, with no profit to anyone. I highly doubt Mr. Dent would engage in crime for crime's sake – that would be increasing the risk of him getting caught for no profit. It would be madness."

"I wouldn't put anything past a man who can collaborate with thieves and murderers," retorted Bruce. "But I will find out the truth, Alfred. However it takes."

Upon his arrival at the station, Bruce discovered little more than what had been reported in the papers – the police didn't have much to go on. "If you ask me, Mr. Wayne, your time would be better spent trying to find some proof of Dent's corruption," said Gordon. "And Commissioner Loeb's collaboration."

"I doubt they keep records, Captain Gordon," replied Bruce.

"Then maybe you need to catch them in the act," said Gordon. "And I might know how to do that."

"How?" asked Bruce.

"Dent's hosting a little soiree at City Hall this weekend – a costume party," said Gordon. "As head of Wayne Enterprises and a potential major campaign investor, I'm sure you could score a ticket. Dent's invited the Commissioner, and all his associates from the Arkham Club, or so the rumor goes. There's bound to be something going down, and if you can expose what it is in public…well, they won't be able to deny it, will they? There'll be no more lies or tricks or fancy talk. Only justice."

Bruce nodded slowly. "I'll see you there, Commissioner," he murmured.

…

"Johnny, it wasn't you with Harley last night, was it?" asked Poison Ivy the next evening as she headed over to Crane and Tetch's table at the Arkham Club. "She snuck outta here before I could ask her who the guy she was with was. I've been asking around all the men I know are interested in her, but they've all denied it was them. It wasn't you, was it?"

Crane stared at her. " _With_ her?" he repeated. "You mean…you mean in an…intimate way?"

"I mean making whoopie," retorted Ivy. "Making hard, loud, dirty whoopie."

Crane flushed. "Good heavens, no! I doubt it was anyone – Harley's not the type of girl to just jump into bed with another man so soon after her lover's death!"

"I think it's good that she's moving on," said Ivy. "And she _was_ with somebody – I couldn't get back in the dressing room because she was occupied with a guy. Or occupied _by_ a guy, I guess…"

"I don't believe it," snapped Crane.

"You believe what you want," retorted Ivy. "I know what I heard. Don't blame me if you're jealous."

"Yeah, every guy in the world should be jealous of me," agreed Harvey Dent, coming over suddenly and sliding his arms around Ivy's waist.

"Not of you, Harvey – of whoever that guy was with Harley last night," replied Ivy.

"What guy with Harley last night?" asked Dent.

"Ivy has made the most slanderous assertion, impugning the honor of a woman who is the pinnacle of virtue and loyalty!" snapped Crane.

"If you think that, then why are you attempting to woo her with flowers?" asked Tetch.

"I'm not attempting to woo her – I am attempting to keep in her thoughts until such time as she comes out of mourning and considers taking another suitor!" snapped Crane.

"Well, considering you were there at her last suitor's death, that shouldn't be too hard," retorted Ivy, dryly.

"When do you think she'll let us meet this new guy?" asked Dent.

"Ask her yourself," said Ivy, nodding at Harley, who had just entered the club. She was beaming from ear to ear, an unusual sight for her these days.

"Harley, you're very nearly late!" squawked Cobblepot, rushing to intercept her at the door. "Get changed and get on stage at once before I'm regrettably forced to conclude that your services are no longer required, as I did for Selin…"

He was cut off as he was suddenly seized around the throat and lifted off his feet by the man who had entered behind Harley, the tall, thin man whose face was hidden in the shadows of his hat.

"Nobody bullies my doll!" he hissed, in a very familiar voice.

Cobblepot stared at him. "Who…are you?" he gasped.

The man laughed. "I'm sorry – so rude to threaten someone before we've been introduced!" he chuckled, removing his hat with his free hand. "I'm the Joker, Pengers. Pleased to meetcha."

The club silenced as all eyes stared at Joker in horror. "It's not possible!" gasped Crane.

"Jack…you're…you're dead!" stammered Cobblepot.

"Boy, I dunno who this Jack guy is, but people sure keep confusing him and me!" chuckled Joker. "I do have another moniker, but it ain't Jack. It's the Clown Killer. So…" he said, looking around at the horrified faces and grinning. "Who wants to buy the celebrity a drink?"

Everyone just stared at him in stunned silence. "All right, I'll order it myself," he chuckled, dropping Cobblepot to the ground suddenly. "Pengers, a bottle of your finest sparkling lemonade for me and my doll. I'll keep it on ice for ya, toots – go get ready to knock 'em dead," he said, kissing Harley.

She giggled, kissed him again, and then headed backstage. "Jesus, lighten up, everyone!" chuckled Joker, looking around at the grim faces as he took a seat. "You look like you've seen a ghost! A clown's meant to bring smiles and laughter, not all these gloomy faces!"

"Yeah, it's…good news that you're back, Jack. Well, not exactly back to your old self, but…y'know," said Dent, slowly. "So does this mean…you're back in business?"

Joker laughed, lighting up a cigarette. "Can't say business is a top priority for me at the moment, Harvey!"

"Then what is?" asked Dent.

"Fun," replied Joker, grinning as he puffed on his cigarette.

"You don't think bootlegging is fun?" asked Dent.

"Not _as_ fun as massacring randomers!" chuckled Joker.

"Where's the fun in that?" asked Dent. "There's no profit."

"Oh Harvey, you've got such a small, simple mind!" sighed Joker. "Thinking that money is the be all and end all of everything! Guess it takes a near death experience to make you see that there's more to life!" he giggled.

"Like what?" asked Dent.

"Like fun," repeated Joker, blowing out a cloud of smoke and smiling.

Dent was about to question him further when Harley appeared on stage and, contrary to routine, launched into a peppy, fast tempo jazz number.

" _I'm just crazy for my baby,_

 _He's just crazy for me!_

 _Other guys, I told 'em maybe;_

 _He I told, just take me!_

 _When I met him, I knew I'd let him_

 _Do whatever with me._

 _How can I refuse to let him_

 _When we're meant to be?_

 _Folks I know around me say_

 _I'm mad as mad can be._

 _Some folks told me, 'Stay away,_

 _He's trouble with a capital T!'_

 _But I'm just wild for my baby_

 _Why can't they all just see?_

 _That I'm just crazy for my baby_

 _And he's just crazy for me!_ "

Her upbeat song proved no less popular than her depressing songs as the entire club applauded loudly, especially Joker, who was beaming at her. She blew him a kiss and then took a bow. Ivy looked around jealously at the crowd of admirers, tightening her grip around Dent's arm.

"Let's get outta here, Harvey," she muttered in his ear.

"Yeah, good idea," agreed Dent. He stood up from the table. "Well, great seeing you all, but Ivy and I are gonna head home. I trust I'll see all of you this weekend at City Hall."

"Why? What's happening this weekend at City Hall?" asked Joker.

"A…costume party," said Dent, slowly. "Everyone from the club's invited."

"That includes me, doesn't it?" asked Joker, grinning at him.

"Sure, if you'd like to come," said Dent.

Joker laughed. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Harvey!" he chuckled. "Gotta be able to have some fun there, right? All of those rich, important types swanning around in fancy dress…I'm sure it'll be a blast!"


	15. Chapter 15

The swinging strains of big band music led Bruce Wayne into the function room at City Hall to see a mass of people in every kind of costume conceivable. It seemed like the whole of Gotham City was there, dressed in eccentric finery, and the whole thing felt very surreal. It made Bruce uneasy. He looked around, trying to recognize people underneath their costumes and masks, particularly Dent and his associates.

He saw Dent suddenly, talking with a woman who was clearly Poison Ivy – her costume was a long green dress with vines snaking down and around it. Dent had gone for a black suit with half a white mask over his face. If his intention had been to be two-faced, thought Bruce, it worked wonderfully well, and couldn't be more appropriate.

"Mr. Dent," he said, heading over to him. "What a striking costume."

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne – yours too," replied Dent. "You're meant to be…what? Some kind of vampire?"

"It's just a bat costume," replied Bruce. "Some kinda Bat-man, I guess. You're two-faced?"

Dent smiled. "The Phantom of the Opera, actually."

"I see. A man who's ugly without but beautiful within," said Bruce. "Rather reversed in your case, though, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," said Dent, lighting up a cigarette.

Bruce leaned forward. "I know," he hissed.

"Know what?" asked Dent.

"I know you're protecting criminals," he muttered. "You got the patrons of Arkham out of jail, you turn a blind eye to their lawlessness, and you get a profit from their crimes."

"What a very interesting theory, Mr. Wayne," said Dent, calmly. "But I'm afraid you'll have to prove it before it's anything more than that. And you won't be able to prove it."

"Watch me," snapped Bruce.

Dent blew out a cloud of smoke into his face, and smiled. "Well, I shall certainly be cowering in fear of a man in a bat costume. Why don't you help yourself to some refreshment, Mr. Wayne? It might calm you down," he said, nodding at the drinks table.

Bruce glared at him and stormed off, heading over to get a drink. He was stunned when he sipped from a glass of the punch to discover the strong taste of alcohol. He couldn't believe the audacity – a party in City Hall, the heart of government, and the punch had been spiked with illegal alcohol. But there was nobody he could tell, no authority he could appeal to for justice – they were all here, and complicit in the act. Bruce felt his blood boil but tried to remain calm. He would never be able to prove anything if he lost his temper and stormed out.

"Excuse me, but I do believe that needs a refill," said a small man in a top hat and tailcoat, pushing past him. Bruce recognized him as Jervis Tetch, whose costume looked remarkably similar to his everyday wear, only he had added a card in his top hat band.

"You're the Mad Hatter?" asked Bruce as Tetch withdrew a bottle of alcohol from his pocket and emptied it into the punch.

"Indeed," he agreed. "And you are…"

He turned and saw Bruce clearly for the first time, and started back in shock and horror. "You're…the Batman!" he gasped. "The one in the factory, who started the fire…"

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," lied Bruce. "I made this costume this morning."

"Oh. Of course…forgive me," stammered Tetch. "It just looks remarkably similar to…to someone I encountered who…did a great deal of harm to me and my interests."

"And what interests are those?" asked Bruce, lightly, pointing at the bottle. "Moonshine?"

"A man must earn a living," said Tetch, shrugging.

"And must a man do that illegally?" asked Bruce. "I don't."

"You're a fine one to talk, Mr. Wayne," said a voice behind him. Bruce turned to see a man in a scarecrow costume, recognizable as Jonathan Crane. "You're a billionaire inheritance case. You've never wanted for anything in your life. Of course it's easy for you to follow the law. It's completely on your side."

"Even if I weren't, I believe a man can make a living in honest ways," snapped Bruce.

"Perhaps you should try it sometime," retorted Crane. "Give all your money to charity and start from scratch. It would be an interesting social experiment, would it not?"

"You can't excuse breaking the law…" began Bruce.

"Indeed you can," interrupted Crane. "You can excuse anything. You just need to have half a brain."

Bruce glared at him. "Can you excuse the murders of this Clown Killer psychopath?" he growled. "The cruel, heartless, random slaughter of innocents?"

"Ah, but that is not crime, Mr. Wayne," said Crane. "That is something entirely different. Insanity. Believe me, those acts are perpetrated by a madman, for no reason whatsoever."

"I fail to see the difference between that and bootlegging," replied Bruce.

"Really? You cannot see the difference between a victimless crime and mass murder?" asked Crane. "You must be blind as the bat you dress as."

"It's not a victimless crime," snapped Bruce. "Police officers have died…"

"Oh, killing police officers is one thing," said Crane, waving his hand. "They interfere in a man's right to make an honest living. Their job is to take away your freedom – killing them is self-defense. And they're aware of the risks when they sign up to the police force. Their sanity is certainly questionable – willing to give your life to uphold nonsensical laws seems like madness to me. But killing randomers truly is mad. Sometimes killing is necessary in a civilized society – the police certainly agree with that. But the senseless murder of innocent people on a mass scale is not. It is pure evil."

"At least we agree on that," snapped Bruce. "Excuse me," he said, shoving past him.

"Bruce?" asked a familiar voice. He turned to see a woman in a long black dress and cat ears staring at him.

"Selina," he said, nodding at her. "Good to see you again."

"Is it?" she asked, sarcastically. "I haven't heard from you since you used me to get my associates arrested."

"You were all breaking the law…" began Bruce.

"Oh, spare me the sanctimonious schoolboy crap!" snapped Selina. "It's because of you that I lost my job at the Arkham Club! How does your conscience feel about that?"

"Well, you appear to be doing all right for yourself," said Bruce, nodding at the dress and the diamonds which decorated her neck, wrists, ears, and fingers.

"I am," agreed Selina. "Why work hard earning money in a nightclub when it's so much easier to just take what you want?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Bruce.

Selina smiled, sipping a glass of punch. "Let's just say I didn't arrive at this party wearing any diamonds," she purred.

"You…you stole them?" stammered Bruce. "You have to give them back, Selina – it's wrong…"

"Most of the people here would disagree with your definitions of right and wrong," interrupted Selina. "You're outnumbered, Bruce. And you always will be. So why don't you stop making everyone's life difficult, your own most of all, keep your nose out of other people's business, lighten up and have some fun? Or do you really expect a guy in a bat costume to be serious all the time?"

"Just because everybody else treats life as some big joke doesn't mean I'm going to!" shouted Bruce.

"What's this about jokes?" asked a voice from the doorway. Bruce turned and his face fell in sudden horror.

Two clowns had entered the room. One was dressed in a long, red and black gown, her face painted white and wearing a black mask. The other was dressed in a purple suit and green bowtie, and his face was very cleanly painted white, so cleanly that Bruce wasn't sure that it was paint…

But it wasn't that which had horrified him. It was the man's face, and smile, and laugh as he had entered. All of which Bruce recognized as coming from a man he had thought dead.

"Jack…Napier!" he gasped.

The man's eyes fixated on him, and he grinned, a horrible, mocking grin. "Oh, it's you!" he giggled. "The man who made me what I am today!"

"Puddin'?" said Harley, her eyes narrowing at Batman. "He's the one who set the fire? He's the one who let you fall?"

"Yes, he is, cupcake," said Joker, kissing her cheek.

"I'll kill him!" hissed Harley. "I'll kill him for hurting you!"

She strode forward, fury in her eyes, but Joker grabbed her arm. "No, no, no, pumpkin pie," he murmured. "He's a friend."

"He tried to kill you!" shrieked Harley. "He made me spend weeks in agony, thinking you were dead!"

"The past, baby, all in the past!" laughed Joker. "No point in dwelling on it. Let bygones be bygones, huh?"

He kissed her forehead tenderly. "Now wait outside for Daddy. This won't take long."

Harley nodded, kissing him and storming off. "I am not your friend," growled Bruce.

"Sure you are!" laughed Joker. "You're the best friend I ever had! Did me a huge favor!"

"What favor?" demanded Bruce.

Joker giggled. "Why, giving me my purpose in life! My sense of fun! You drove me crazy, Batsy. And now, I do the same for everyone else. Just before I kill 'em, of course!" he chuckled.

Bruce stared at him. "It's you," he gasped. "You're the…Clown Killer!"

"I prefer the name Joker," he said, grinning. "What's the matter, Batsy? Aren't you happy to see me? You must have been lonely – the only lunatic in a costume in Gotham! But as you can see, there are a ton of us now!" he chuckled, gesturing around the room.

"There's only one lunatic here," growled Bruce. "And that's you."

Joker shook his head, laughing. "No, no, no! We're all mad here! Just take a look around!" he laughed. "The city's government and law enforcement swilling illegal hooch with the city's criminal underclass! From the highest to the lowest, we're all the same! A senator's no different from a thief and a murderer, which means a thief and a murderer are no different from a senator. It's all crazy, this asylum full of lunatics, all on the funhouse slide into madness! But you can't beat 'em, Batsy. The only thing you can do is join 'em in their insanity, and fiddle while Rome burns."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a match. "And speaking of burning…" he giggled.

He threw the match at Bruce, who dodged it, and it extinguished harmlessly on the ground. "What was that meant to do?" he asked, turning to Joker.

"Annoy you," retorted Joker, grinning. "The real fun's gonna begin in about…five seconds," he said, glancing at his watch. "Four…three…two…one…boom!" he whispered, smiling.

At that moment, an explosion shook the entire room as the roof of the building cracked and began to cave in. This was followed by another explosion and another as the walls began to explode, dust and mortar raining down along with flame and smoke. The shrieking and screaming began as people rushed to flee the scene. The only person who didn't seem panicked was the Joker, calmly smoking a cigarette and beaming at the chaos, while whistling _God Bless America_.

A huge chunk of the ceiling hurtled down straight for him. Bruce leaped forward, shoving him out of the way. "You wanna die?!" roared Bruce.

Joker laughed hysterically. "Can't kill me, Batsy," he whispered, grinning. "Tried that once. I'm immortal. I just come back stronger, smarter, and crazier than ever."

Bruce couldn't respond to that, but he was suddenly distracted by a scream. "Harvey!" shrieked Poison Ivy.

Bruce turned to see the District Attorney trapped under a fallen bit of masonry that Ivy was trying desperately to move. Bruce raced over to help her. "Get out of here!" he shouted at her. "Go! I'll get him!"

Ivy tried to protest, but she was grabbed by Selina who dragged her away, Ivy still screaming and struggling to get back to Dent. Bruce struggled to shift the heavy block of stone, and finally managed to make it budge. He freed Dent, and helped him to his feet, slinging his arm over his shoulder to support him.

"We have to go – we don't have much time before this whole place collapses," Dent gasped.

Bruce nodded, looking around to make sure everyone had got out. It was impossible to see in the blinding, choking smoke…

And then the alcohol ignited in a giant burst of flame, a burst of flame that headed straight for Bruce and Dent. Bruce ducked, dragging Dent after him…

But he was too late. He heard Dent's scream and smelled the horrible, sharp stench of burning flesh, and then felt Dent's weight collapse onto him as he fell unconscious. Choking on the smoke, Bruce crawled toward the door and managed to make it to outside, dragging the District Attorney after him.

"Harvey!" screamed Ivy, racing over. "Harvey, oh thank God, thank…"

She clapped a hand to her mouth, gasping in horror, and Bruce saw why. In the light of the streetlamps he could see Dent's face, half of it charred and blackened almost beyond recognition.

"No!" Ivy gasped. "No, no, Harvey, baby, wake up! Baby please, wake up!"

"We need to get him to a hospital," muttered Bruce. "He's alive, but those are severe burns, and they immediate medical attention."

"The ambulance is already on its way, Mr. Wayne," said Captain Gordon.

Bruce looked around at everyone gathered outside, but there was no sign of the Joker or Harley. They had played their sick joke, and now they were gone.

He was suddenly punched across the face. "You were supposed to save him!" screamed Ivy. "You were supposed to protect him! Oh God, Harvey! Harvey! I should have stayed, I should have…"

She broke off sobbing, collapsing onto his body and wailing. Selina knelt next to her, trying to comfort her, and looked up at Bruce with cold, accusing eyes.

Bruce wanted to say something, to defend himself, to tell her he had done his best. But his conscience told him that it was his fault. He should have got Dent out in time. He should have put Napier behind bars long ago. He should have saved him before he could turn into that horrific, insane clown. Everything that had happened tonight had been his fault, and he knew he would take the blame and live with this guilt, the same as he lived with the guilt of his parents' death. Selina's eyes were as accusing as the eyes of his mother and father who haunted his dreams every night, demanding why he had failed to save them.

It was enough to drive anyone mad.


	16. Chapter 16

"Is there any news on Mr. Dent?" asked Jervis Tetch, as Jonathan Crane returned to the new factory they had rented.

"Nothing good," replied Crane, with a sigh. "He hasn't woken up yet. But his condition is stable. The burns, as you might imagine, will never fully heal."

"The poor man," murmured Tetch. "I can't imagine living with a deformity like that."

"Yes, his career is very likely over," sighed Crane. "Even if he recovers, nobody will ever vote for a man with half a face. He used his looks to get ahead and be popular – now he's going to lose everything he gained from those."

"Except Miss Ivy," said Tetch. "I can't believe she could be that shallow as to leave a man just because of an accident."

"No," agreed Crane. "She hasn't left his side since it happened. She will stand by him, whatever happens. I think she knows something of loss herself, and would never inflict that pain on anyone she cares about."

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. "How's the mixing coming along?"

"Slowly," replied Tetch, gesturing to the single, large vat. "We lost so much in the fire – we can't produce on the scale we used to. We barely have enough to fill the Arkham Club's orders, let alone all the other speakeasies."

"We'll have to put a limit on the orders until we're back up to full capacity," said Crane, examining the chemicals pouring into the vats. "Perhaps it'll be better in the long run. Scarcity drives prices up, after all. We'll likely double or even triple our income. Plus with Mr. Napier out of the picture, there's more profit for us."

" _Is_ he out of the picture?" asked Tetch.

Crane shrugged. "He hasn't asked to resume his former duties. And I don't want a man as unpredictable as that working for us anyway."

"No," agreed Tetch. He paused. "Why…did he blow up City Hall? There was no reason for it – his friends were in there…"

"Because he is evil," interrupted Crane. "And insane, as I told Mr. Wayne. He doesn't have reasons that make sense to anyone else."

He sighed. "Which is a shame, since with Mr. Dent out of office, it's very unlikely that things will continue as they are. The law won't turn a blind eye to all of us anymore. Commissioner Loeb is a coward, and without Mr. Dent to protect him, he'll be too scared to continue his criminal favoritism. Without Mr. Dent to protect us all, I fear our activities can only have a limited run."

"So what should we do?" asked Tetch, gently.

Crane sighed. "Finish this batch," he said. "We'll split it among the speakeasies as best we can. And then I think we should probably leave town before things start to heat up. Dark days are coming to Gotham, especially with this Joker on the loose. Before it was organized crime. Now it's disorganized chaos. And nobody wants that."

"Too true," agreed Tetch, with a heavy sigh. "Nobody can live in a mad place without going mad themselves. Look at Wonderland."

"Well yes, quite," agreed Crane. "Now why don't you head home and get some rest, Jervis? I'll take the night shift."

Tetch nodded, wishing him a goodnight and leaving the factory. Crane examined all the dials and settings, making sure the alcohol was stable, and then left the main room of the factory to head off into his laboratory.

Crane occupied himself during the long night shifts with his own pet project – chemical experimentation in fear. Fear was a subject that had obsessed him ever since he was a boy, where he had been tormented by schoolyard bullies. He had always imagined that one day he could control the fear that he had been subjected to, and inflict it on those who deserved it, if not through physical means, then through chemical ones. Since he spent most of his time surrounded by the chemicals used to produce alcohol, in his spare time he would use those and others he found around the factories to try to create a fear toxin, with limited success so far.

As the night drew on, he worked diligently, with occasional breaks to monitor the alcohol. By sunrise, he had a completed toxin, but doubted it would be any more effective than any of the others he had made.

"Only one way to find out," he muttered, reaching into a cage where he kept a lab rat. He filled a syringe with the toxin and then injected it into the animal, watching to see any reaction it might have.

There was none. The rat went calmly back to its food, looking as unconcerned as ever. Crane sighed heavily. "Wonderful," he muttered, tossing the syringe back on the table. "Another failure, Crane. Story of your life."

He yawned and stretched, heading back out of the room and out of the main factory to go get a breath of fresh air. Everything was silent inside except for the bubbling of the alcohol and the occasional squeak from the rat.

And then a figure moved in the shadows, a figure in a purple suit. He stole carefully into the laboratory, picking up the beaker of toxin on the table and examining it in gloved hands. He turned to look at the rat, which caught sight of him suddenly and began squeaking in terror, its whole body shaking as it squealed helplessly, scratching at the bars in panic. The figure grinned, a huge, red-lipped grin, and then took the vial of toxin and entered the main room of the factory. He approached the vat filled with alcohol and then dumped the toxin in, watching it mix with the alcohol and disappear.

He giggled madly as it dissolved, and then returned to the laboratory, shattering the glass vial on the stones. Then he opened the cage to release the rat, which went dashing off into the factory, squeaking madly. "Careless of Johnny not to lock the cage," chuckled the figure. "The rat got out and knocked over his beaker. No loss, of course, since it doesn't work or anything. Nobody will suspect a thing!"

He chuckled hysterically under his breath, heading back out the window he had entered by. "Let the fun begin!" he laughed.


	17. Chapter 17

This time it was Ivy who sang the sad songs during her shifts in the Arkham Club, tears trailing down her face as she mourned her lost love, who had yet to wake up. The atmosphere in the club matched her mood – there was a sense of despondency and foreboding, like the calm before a storm.

Bane came over to Cobblepot and whispered something in his ear. Cobblepot scowled, and followed Bane to the door, which was suddenly blown of its hinges as two familiar figures entered the club.

"You'll make Harley late for her set, keeping us waiting like that, Pengers!" laughed Joker, holding the smoking gun.

"J, you're not welcome here!" snapped Cobblepot. "Not after you tried to kill us all at City Hall!"

"Just a bit of fun, Pengers!" chuckled Joker. "No reason to bar your most popular performer from the club! She didn't have anything to do with it!"

"If she chooses to associate herself with you, she is responsible for the consequences of those actions," retorted Cobblepot.

Joker chuckled. "So you'd rather have the sad sack Weed up there bringing down the mood?" he asked, gesturing at Ivy. "C'mon, Pengers! This is meant to be a speakeasy! It's gotta have a jolly atmosphere if you want people to keep coming! And nobody does jolly like my doll," he said, kissing Harley's cheek.

Cobblepot glared at them, but nodded slowly. "All right. But you're limited to one drink per customer. I have a supply issue."

"No drinks for us, thanks, Pengers!" laughed Joker. "I just wanna soak up the atmosphere, and Harley wants to please her adoring public. Something tells me it's gonna be quite the show!" he giggled, as Harley headed backstage.

Ivy left the stage, heading over to the bar with her head in her hands. "Allow me to buy the young lady a drink?" said Joker, sidling up next to her.

Ivy glared at him. "You can buy me a bottle of something so I can break it and slam the remains into your eye," she muttered.

"Look, I never meant to hurt Harvey," said Joker. "That wasn't my intention."

"What was your intention?" she demanded. "Kill a bunch of randomers? What kinda joke was there in that?"

"Well, nobody expected that punchline!" chuckled Joker. "But no, it wasn't the joke I had originally set up. I wanted to kill the Batman. And if I took a couple of random senators and politicians down with him, so much the better!"

"How did you know the Batman would be there?" asked Ivy.

Joker shrugged. "I didn't. But I thought I'd have the explosives ready just in case. Turned out to be my lucky night!" he chuckled.

"Except you didn't kill him," growled Ivy. "You just burned half of Harvey's face off."

"I'll do better next time," replied Joker with a grin. "But c'mon, lemme buy you a drink to say I'm sorry. If my doll's gonna continue to work here with you, we should remain on friendly terms."

Ivy nodded slowly. "I could use a drink," she muttered. "But I'm not forgiving you, J. The cops are onto us – they were here earlier asking questions. Harvey's not there to control things with Loeb, and now Loeb is running scared. He wants to alienate himself from corruption charges, so he's trying to bring down anyone who has anything on him. Which includes everyone in this club. Everything's falling apart, and it's all your fault."

Joker giggled. "Well, I do love a little chaos!" he laughed. "Scotch on the rocks for the lady, please, Pengers," he said. "And credit my and Harley's drinks to her too. She looks like she could use 'em."

He clapped her on the back and then headed to the table in front of the stage to watch Harley perform. Ivy took the scotch, sipping it slowly and trying to hold back tears.

And then a very strange thing happened. The club seemed to whirl in front of her eyes, and then go dark. She was alone in the darkness, and her voice shook in fear as she called out, "Hello? Penguin? J? Harley?"

"Pam," whispered a voice behind her. She whirled around, and her heart stopped as she saw a familiar figure standing behind her.

"Jason!" she gasped. "Jason, what…what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to rescue you, Pam," he murmured. "From this life, this horrible life you're enduring. I'm here to take you home and keep you safe, and stay with you forever and ever. We can be together this time, for always. We can have our happily ever after."

"Jason," she stammered, her voice shaking. "Jason, I…I…oh God, Jason!" she cried, throwing herself into his arms. "I never thought you'd say those words to me, I never thought I'd see you again! I missed you so much, and…and I love you, Jason! I love you!"

"Oh, Pammie," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Pammie, Pammie, Pammie."

He tilted her chin up to kiss her, and then stopped inches from her lips, grinning. "You always were a stupid girl," he muttered. "And I can't believe you fell for it again!"

He suddenly started laughing hysterically, shoving her to the ground and turning to go. "Jason!" screamed Ivy. "Jason, please wait! Please don't go! Don't leave me again!"

But the darkness had swallowed him up, leaving Ivy alone again. She could hear noises in the blackness around her, her heart beating in terror as she strained to see anything. And then a man with half a face appeared in darkness in front of her.

"Harvey!" she gasped, racing toward him. "Oh, thank God! Thank God…I…I can't be alone again!"

Dent didn't seem to hear her – he looked beyond her, and then turned slowly to go. "Harvey!" Ivy screamed, racing after him, but as fast as she ran, she couldn't catch him. "Harvey!" she cried. She stumbled and fell to the ground. Looking up with a sob, she saw Dent growing further and further away, and the darkness at her heels, threatening to consume her. "Harvey!" she screamed. "Harvey, no, please don't leave me! Please don't leave me alone!"

And then the blackness swallowed her up with a scream.

…

"God in heaven, what on earth is happening?!" exclaimed Jervis Tetch, gazing around him in horror. Everyone in the Arkham Club had suddenly begun screaming and panicking. Some were attacking each other – some were writhing on the ground, or cowering in a corner, but all had the same terrified looks in their eyes.

Crane was staring around too. "Something's…affecting them," he gasped. "Something's making them afraid…"

"Why aren't we affected?" demanded Tetch.

Crane gazed at him. "The alcohol," he stammered. "We…we haven't drunk anything."

"What?" gasped Tetch. "But…but that's impossible! We were watching it all night – nobody could have tampered with it!"

"Congratulations, Professor Crane," said a voice behind them. They turned to see the Joker, smoking calmly on his cigarette, apparently unaffected by the panic that had seized everyone else. "A very successful experiment in terror, wouldn't you agree?"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Crane.

"Your toxin," said Joker, grinning. "I'm glad it's proved so successful."

Tetch gaped at Crane. "You…you did this?" he stammered.

"No! No, I didn't!" exclaimed Crane. "I mean, I…I am working on a fear toxin but…every test has always been unsuccessful! And I don't know how it could have gotten into the…"

He trailed off, turning to Joker. "It was you," he whispered. "You put the toxin in the alcohol."

"Guilty as charged!" chuckled Joker, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Just wanted to see the look on your face at finally achieving your lifelong dream, Craney!"

"Why?" gasped Crane. "Why hurt all of these people?"

Joker gestured around at the writhing masses on the floor. "Some joke on them, huh?" he laughed. "Expecting a drug to relax their minds - instead they get one helluva stimulant!" he chuckled. "And I'm sure Batsy would approve – it's what people who break the law deserve, after all!"

"The damage could be…irreparable!" gasped Crane. "Some of them will never recover their sanity…"

"Some of them never had much to begin with!" chuckled Joker. "Anyway, I did everyone a favor, helping them embrace the madness! I know I, for one, have never been happier since my little accident that drove me crazy! I just want to spread the joy!"

He clapped Tetch on the back. "Bet you're glad you don't drink now, huh, Tetchy?" he chuckled.

"We…we have to call an ambulance," stammered Tetch. "We have to get help!"

"Fine, spoil the fun!" sighed Joker, puffing on his cigarette. "But I, for one, am gonna sit here and watch my doll perform among the shrieks of the masses. Should give her quite the accompaniment!" he giggled, taking a seat at a table in front of the stage.

Harley began singing amid the screaming, and Joker's occasional burst of laughter. Crane and Tetch left the den of madness, hurrying outside to call the emergency services. By the time they arrived, Joker and Harley had vacated the club, leaving only the screaming, writhing masses, or the ones who had survived anyway.

Crane and Tetch accompanied them to the hospital, and they sat in the waiting room in the glare of the lamplight.

"This is all my fault," murmured Crane.

"No, it's the Joker's fault," snapped Tetch. "If you let him get to you, he's won."

"Oh God, Jervis, he's won anyway," whispered Crane. "Don't you understand what he wants? Pure, unchecked chaos. And he's going to get it. If those people don't recover, and get out…there'll be madness in the streets."

"I'm sure someone here can synthesize a cure," said Tetch. "Or maybe you can, since you know what's in it. You could offer them your services."

"I could," agreed Crane, nodding. "That would be the decent thing to do."

An alarm suddenly went off. "Everyone, get to unit 66 now!" shouted a doctor, racing past.

"Unit 66?" repeated Tetch.

"Miss Ivy!" gasped Crane. They both ran after him to see several doctors struggling to hold down Poison Ivy, who was writhing on the bed, screaming.

"What have you given her?!" shouted a doctor.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, but it's reacting with her blood!" shouted a nurse. "I've never seen anything like it!"

"Oh God, what's happening to her?" gasped Tetch.

"Her skin," murmured Crane. "It's turning…green."

"The plant, Jonathan!" gasped Tetch, gesturing to a potted plant in the corner of the room which suddenly began writhing and undulating in a manner that mirrored Ivy. With a scream, she sat up, throwing the doctors off her, and the plant snaked around her protectively.

"Yes, you won't leave me, baby," she whispered, petting it. "You won't ever leave me."

Crane and Tetch could only stare at her in horror, as powerless as the doctors to do anything.

"Professor Crane?" asked a voice. They turned to see Captain Gordon standing behind them.

"Yes, Captain Gordon?" asked Crane.

"It's Commissioner Gordon now," said Gordon. "Commissioner Loeb tendered his resignation this afternoon, amid charges of corruption and bribery."

He gestured two police officers forward. "Professor Crane, you're under arrest for conspiracy to commit mass murder…"

"What?" stammered Crane, shocked, as he was handcuffed.

"This fear toxin is your invention, isn't it?" asked Gordon.

"Well, yes, but…but I didn't put it in the alcohol!" exclaimed Crane. "It was the Joker! He confessed to it!"

"Do you have any record of this confession?" asked Gordon.

"No, but…but I didn't do it!" exclaimed Crane. "I'm not that kind of man – I have no desire to hurt anyone!"

"You're a criminal, Professor Crane," snapped Gordon. "A bootlegger. Mr. Wayne will attest to that. I'm sure mass murder is just a small step up for you. You invented this toxin to terrorize people, and you couldn't resist doing a test where you could watch the results, could you? Well, I hope you're happy. Twenty people are dead because of you."

"Look, you have to believe me – I never wanted to kill anyone!" exclaimed Crane.

"I don't believe anything a criminal says," muttered Gordon. "Take him away," he said, gesturing to the officers.

"Commissioner, if you do this, if you arrest and try to convict me for a crime I didn't commit…then I swear to you, this will not be the last you see of my toxin," growled Crane. "If you are prepared to create a monster, then I assure you, you will have one on your hands, a monster that inflicts fear and terror on the guilty as well as the innocent."

Gordon shrugged. "What's one more monster in Gotham, Professor Crane? You'll fit right in. But from today, the police force is dedicating itself to hunting down the monsters. You first."

The police dragged Crane off. "Mr. Tetch, you're arrested on charges of bootlegging," said Gordon, gesturing to two more officers. "Your crime is less serious than your friend's, but not by much. Perhaps you'll be able to share a cell, if not life sentences."

Tetch just stared at him as the handcuffs were placed around his wrists. " _The time has come,' the Walrus said_ ," he murmured, as he was dragged off." _To talk of many things: of shoes — and ships — and sealing-wax — of cabbages — and kings — and why the sea is boiling hot — and whether pigs have wings_."


	18. Chapter 18

Harley pointed the gun at the trembling hostages, beaming in excitement as she called, "How's it coming, puddin'?"

"Nearly done, pooh!" called back Joker. He emerged from a room in the museum with an armful of treasure, including a diamond-studded tiara, which he placed on Harley's head. "There you go, milady! A crown for the queen of Gotham!"

"Aw, puddin', it's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Do I have to call you your majesty now?"

"Nah, puddin's good," he chuckled.

"What about King J?" she asked.

"My subjects can call me that," he said, waving his hand. "My doll don't need to call me a lotta fancy titles."

"Aw, but it's kinda sexy to be intimate with you and call you a cute, playful, professional name," she purred, kissing him. "Mistah J."

"Oooh, I like that!" he giggled. "Keep that one! Now, hostages," he said, turning to face them. "I'm gonna be a nice guy and let you go."

They stared at him in shock. "Thank…thank…you…"

And that's when Joker ripped out his gun and shot them all in the face. "Only joking!" he laughed. "Just wanted to see the looks on their faces right before I delivered the punchline!"

He kept giggling, pulling out a knife to mutilate the faces into smiles. "Y'know, Johnny's little fear toxin thing gave me kinda an idea – maybe I can invent a gas to do this smiling stuff for me! Would save having to dry clean the suit to get the blood off every time!" he laughed. "But then I'd lose the pleasure of the hands-on approach, and the satisfaction of a job well done."

"Plus it's really hot watching you work, Mr. J," purred Harley. "We need to get back to the car soon so your Harley girl can show you just how happy you make her."

"That would be very unladylike behavior, pooh," he giggled.

"I ain't a lady," she retorted. "I'm a bad, bad, bad girl. And I love my bad, bad, bad man."

He kissed her, cupping her face in his gloved, bloodied hands. "You're one hot little number like this, pooh," he whispered. "In your cute little clown costume, to match mine, your face all white and red and bloodied..."

"Puddin'!" she whined. "Let's go to the car if you're gonna do the dirty talk!"

He giggled. "Okie dokie! My work here is done anyway," he said, beaming at the corpses as he hoisted the bag of loot over his shoulder. "Let's beat it, kid!"

"You're not going anywhere," growled a voice. Batman had appeared in front of them, with a few improvements to his costume. He had added a utility belt for one, with gadgets and weapons he could use. "You're going back to jail, Napier."

"Dunno who this Napier guy is, Batsy!" giggled Joker. "You don't see me calling you Wayne, do you? Because even if that's who you were, it's not who you are now. I'm the Joker, and you're the Batman. It may be crazy, but that's the world we live in!"

"You're wrong," growled Batman. "The police are cracking down on the criminals. Your friends have been locked up. Gotham is going to be a city of order now, a city where decent people can live in peace."

Joker laughed hysterically, shaking his head. "No, no, no, Batsy!" he giggled. "It won't be! That was the city you ruined, with your straight and narrow justice, with your black and white and good and bad and your obsession with stopping crime! And now you've got something even worse! You've got madness in the streets, insanity running rampant! And that's gonna do a lot more damage to your precious order than organized crime ever did, believe me!"

"Why would anyone believe you?" demanded Batman. "A man who calls himself the Joker…"

"And that's the joke!" giggled Joker. "Because you never know when I'm serious or not! But trust me, Batsy, right now I'm not kidding! When one kinda order collapses, the thing that fills the void isn't more order. It's chaos. And that's what you got now, Batsy. Random, violent chaos."

"Are you coming to jail quietly, or will I have to restrain you?" demanded Batman.

Joker grinned. "Yeah, let's see what you got in your bag of tricks, Batsy," he murmured. "I'll go first!" he said, reaching into the bag and grabbing a tommy gun.

He began firing repeating rounds at Batman, laughing hysterically as Batman dodged out of the way, running for cover. Harley joined him by firing her pistol at Batman, grinning insanely.

Batman ducked behind a pillar, reaching into his utility belt and withdrawing a Batarang. He flung it at Joker, the metal slicing off the barrel of the gun and rendering it useless. That just left Harley to deal with, he thought, as he threw a smoke grenade at the clowns.

Harley coughed and choked, looking around for Batman but blinded by the smoke. And then a dark shape leapt on top of her, knocking the gun from her hand and kicking her to the ground. He cuffed her hands behind her back, and then looked around for the Joker. He was racing toward the door, and Batman pulled out a grappling gun, firing the hook at Joker as the rope twisted around his legs and brought him down. Batman came over to handcuff him to find him still chuckling.

"Nice toys!" he laughed. "You've been busy since our last encounter! Can't wait to see what you bring to the next party!"

"There won't be a next party," growled Batman, handcuffing him. "You're both going to jail, and you're going to stay there forever."

Joker laughed hysterically. "Now who's the Joker?" he chuckled, beaming at him.

Batman ignored him, pulling him and Harley to their feet and dragging them out of the museum.

…

"Just put them in here, Mr. Wayne," said Matron Leland, leading Batman down a wing of cells as he dragged Joker and Harley behind him. "It's our new wing for…the more mentally unbalanced of our inmates. It's a good idea to keep them separate from the regular prisoners after Ivy managed to…strangle a few inmates with some vines."

"They deserved it," muttered Poison Ivy, who sat in her cell, petting her plants as they curled around her. "Humanity will only use and abandon you. It deserves to be destroyed."

"I didn't abandon you, Pam!" roared Harvey Dent, across the cell-block. "You abandoned me! The moment I wasn't handsome or powerful enough, you left!"

"You left first!" she screamed. "All men…always leave me first…won't trust them anymore," she murmured. "Won't trust anything but plants."

"We call it the Arkham wing, as a casual nickname," said Leland. "You can see why."

Batman paused in front of Dent's cell – he had finally woken up, but his mind had remained as damaged as his face. He sat on his bed, flipping a coin and staring off into the middle-distance.

"Is he going to be brought to trial?" asked Batman, softly.

"He can't really defend himself, Mr. Wayne," said Leland, gently. "Mr. Dent's not in there anymore. He's gone."

"The only trial I deserve is this one," growled Dent, glaring up at Bruce with both of his faces as he held up a coin. "Heads or tails. The coin decides my fate, not a courtroom full of idiots. Fate is the one, true justice, Mr. Wayne. Maybe someday you'll understand that. Can't hide your sins from fate. One day they'll all be laid bare before you, burned away, and you'll be revealed for the monster you truly are."

Joker giggled as Batman dragged him off, turning away from the former District Attorney. Further on down the cells was Jonathan Crane, scribbling notes to himself and looking up only to glare at Batman. And then there was Jervis Tetch, muttering nonsense quotes to himself repeatedly. And further on were more and more cells with more and more inmates, in what looked almost to be a never-ending chain of madness.

Batman's heart sank as he shoved Joker and Harley into the single remaining cell at the end of the corridor. "Told ya, Batsy!" giggled Joker. "Look at all the good your order and justice has done! Just take a look around!"

He laughed hysterically as Harley curled up against him, kissing him and beaming. Batman turned to go. "You know this won't hold us, right?" called Joker, after him. "We'll all be out again soon! Out on the streets, spreading our madness, causing chaos and destruction! And it's all thanks to you, Batman! See you soon, buddy! See you real soon!"

His maniacal, mocking laughter followed Batman out of the cell block. And deep in his heart, Batman knew he was right. He was responsible for all of these people, all these insane, monstrous, murderous people. He had created them. They were his responsibility, and he was damn well going to live up to his responsibility to protect Gotham from them, even if he had failed to protect them from themselves. He had failed once again, and now he was doomed to pay the price for his failure over and over again, night after night, living among the insane.

It was enough to drive anyone mad.

 **The End**


End file.
